


The Two Devils of Small Heath [ReWrite]

by InsidiousCupcake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fem Harry Potter - Freeform, MOD Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Period Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Time Travel, period typical racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsidiousCupcake/pseuds/InsidiousCupcake
Summary: Cast back in time, Harry isn't quite certain what to make of this period, nor the hell hole she's landed in. The one thing she is certain of is the fact that those bloody Shelbys are trouble, and for once she'd like to be left out of it. But the Devil doesn't play fair and neither does she. And if they want trouble, she'll give them literal hell.
Relationships: Fem Harry Potter/Thomas Shelby, Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby, Harry Potter/Thomas Shelby
Comments: 203
Kudos: 861
Collections: why I only sleep an hour a night





	1. The Beginning

Death had a bad reputation, this was something she had learned quite quickly. Her arrival was met typically with grief, and the occasional attempts to bargain for more time. One would think that eventually, you would become desensitized to the emotions, but she never could quite let go of the little humanity she clung to like a child to a blanket.

Children were the hardest, and they were the ones she had more than once turned a blind eye to. They were the ones she had broken rules for. They were the ones she had let live. And they were the ones that she had gladly taken the punishment for. No soul could argue that Death did not like to be cheated, not even by their Master.

And perhaps it was that very reason that she woke to the familiar scorching pain that typically accompanied Death’s anger. The agonizing scream that forced its way from her lips seemed to startle the man who had previously been inspecting her body. The scream was unearthly, and she could feel the magic burning through her veins, forcing her body to arch off the ground.

She could not recognize her surroundings, and even as the pain dulled, she could not understand. As her eyes slowly regained focus, she could see that something was terribly wrong. This place was dull and filthy, a foul smell seemed to blanket the area, and it only took a moment for her to realize what the smell was; death. Glancing down at her aching body, she realized there was another complication. She was entirely nude. Sighing in exasperation, she dragged her blood stained fingers through her knotted hair as she realized that she was the source of that ghastly smell.

“Y-you was fucking dead.”

Turning her attention to the sound of the fearful voice, she regarded the man with a curious gaze. The man wore an old suit, something from a period movie on the telly. In fact, a glance around at the crowd that had amassed made it visible that everyone was dressed in such a manner. And something in the pit of her stomach told her that it wasn’t the lot of them who were going crazy.

Only just registering his statement, she glanced down at her body once more. Save from the blood caked on her hands, she seemed perfectly fine. The crippling pain was just a complication. Meeting the man’s gaze once more, she said, “Ah yes, the dead are rising. Gather the townspeople and light your torches.”

The people around her did not laugh, however, but instead whisper amongst themselves as they regarded her most fearfully. It was a fair reaction, she decided. Rising to her feet, she paid no attention to the people who stepped away from her. The sea of people parted for her in a manner that left her amused as she limped towards the cart of newspapers at the corner of the street. Grabbing one of the newspapers, her eyes scanned over the dull print. Her eyes strained to comprehend the writing, and she realized she didn’t have her bloody glasses. Raising the newsprint closer to her face, she squinted, only to be distracted by a deep voice demanding, “You gotta pay for that!”

Turning her head towards the sound of the voice, she threw the group a withering glare. The magic which had previously been buzzing through her lashed out threateningly and the wind around her seemed to whip around her form angrily. The small display was enough to silence the group as she turned her attention back to the paper to scan the date. And with a most unimpressed sigh, she let the newspaper fall.

There were very few facts of which she was certain and the most important one was that she had time travelled. There was also the fact that she was in Birmingham, and there was a war coming. And something told her to go to Small Heath.

-x-

You could ask any man in Small Heath about the woman with those eyes and he would be able to tell you with the utmost confidence that she existed only in the confines of the church. She sat in the second row to the right and she always had that frown plastered on her lips. And she sat there like something that did not belong, something alien that made no effort to blend in. And she did not speak. And she did not move. And some whispered she didn’t even breathe. But one thing was certain, she did not exist outside those walls.

Rumours were quick to circulate between churchgoers that the woman was a spirit. Or perhaps an ill omen, her arrival correlating with the beginning of the war. The few who were brave enough to approach the woman found themselves ignored. The woman’s eyes never did stray far from the book in her lap and good riddance. For when they did, they were cold and angry and did well to discourage any further attempts at conversation. And It was these very rumours which had led to the youngest Shelby brother to the woman.

“They say you’re a Devil.” Finn said with feigned confidence as he stared towards the front of the church, not meeting the women’s eyes as he ventured, “But Aunt Polly says that the Devil don’t go to church.”

When she made no move to answer, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, all the while wringing his hands anxiously. He had to remind himself why he was doing this, he had to try for them! And it was with all the courage in his body that he whispered “I don’t care what you are! But if you are something other, watch out for my brothers. The three of them are off at war and Aunt Polly’s been praying to the Lord but I don’t think he listens to us in Small Heath.”

At the end of his request, Finn was startled to find the woman’s eyes watching him carefully and at that moment he understood what all the rumours were about. She had anger in her eyes, and hate too! But it wasn’t that she was angry at him, instead Finn reckoned that she was just angry at the world. Lots of people were nowadays, himself included. She was looking directly at him but it was though she was looking through him.

Recognizing it perhaps as his only opportunity he ducked his head and sifted through his pocket until he felt the weathered paper in his grasp. Holding the worn photo towards the woman, he said, “That’s them. That’s Arthur there and Tommy and John!”

When she made no effort to grasp it, Finn reluctantly set it down beside her and mumbled, “I’ll just leave it here then. Keep it safe, would you? It’s my only one.”

-x-

It wasn’t until many weeks later that the Shelby boy ventured back to the church, this time accompanied by his aunt. The woman walked in with her head held high and Finn had on many occasions tried to mimic the same confidence but found that he looked entirely too ridiculous. This morning he hadn’t intended on approaching the woman, he was only there because Polly had all but forced him to come with her. But that didn’t stop him from peaking at the woman as he followed his aunt towards the altar. Panic flashed in his eyes when he realized that the photograph was no longer sitting beside her.

He didn’t know what he had expected. Did he think she would have taken it? Or even cared how valuable it was to him? To her, he was an absolute stranger, a peculiar little boy who didn’t know how to cope with the absence of his brothers.

As though sensing his panic, the woman sighed and readjusted the book in her lap, revealing the corner of a photo which peaked out from between some pages. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t even look at him, but Finn knew that she wasn’t as oblivious as she looked. And for some reason that didn’t unsettle him, because it made sense for the Devil to keep his ears open.

Catching his line of sight, Polly was quick to grasp his arm and yank him towards herself. Leaning down, she said, “Don’t stare at the woman.”

“They say she ain’t human,” Finn explained, trying to provide a reason for all the looks he threw her way.

“Of course she’s human, you see her there. She doesn’t have two heads or horns.” She chided, “She might not be right in the head but she’s human all the same.”

That didn’t sound right to Finn. She didn’t act like any crazy person he’d ever seen and there were many in Small Heath. She had this aura to her that he didn’t understand. How could Aunt Polly not see that the woman there was a right Devil if he ever saw one? He supposed she hadn’t ever met her eyes before, because they could only belong to the Devil.

-x-

They say things happened in threes, and this certainly was true for their third encounter. Finn had been sitting next to the woman shuffling his feet awkwardly as he waited for her to acknowledge him. When she did not, he decided to speak. Eyes glued to the altar because he was certain she didn’t like eye contact, he said, “I can’t read. They try to teach us but I think it’s useless. Who needs to read when you can talk?”

He wasn’t expecting a response and so when the dry and unused voice hit his ear, he jumped slightly in his seat.

“How do you intend to read your brother’s letters?”

“Don’t got any to read.” He replied darkly, feeling the tears burning at his eyes. He was a Shelby, he didn’t cry and absolutely not in public! What would his brothers think of him reacting like a kid? Arthur had told him before he left that he was the man of the house, and he had to be strong for that.

With an exasperated sigh, the woman angled her head towards him and hummed, “They’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

“How do you know?” Finn asked,

“I simply do.” She said.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. He reckoned it was as good as he was gonna get from her and he shrugged his shoulders and said, “John’s kids are gonna learn. Polly says If Katie’s bright she won’t follow my example. Reckon she means John’s other kids are as stupid as I am. Not surprising with John as their father.”

He turned to her then, gauging at her reaction. Every time he said anything like that around Polly or Arthur, he’d be reprimanded. But the woman didn’t even blink, instead, her eyes trailed over the block of text in her book lazily. He wondered what was so fascinating on those dull looking pages.

“You got a name, Miss? If you don’t tell me, I’ll just keep guessing. I know loads of names. I’m ten now, so you can imagine I’ve met loads of people. John says I can be annoying but Tommy says there ain’t anything wrong with knowing what you want.”

He thought she’d just ignore him like usual but instead she looked at him with a curious look. When she wasn’t scowling, Finn decided she looked quite striking. He wasn’t certain if that was good or bad but she definitely looked memorable.

“My name is Harry. And you would do well to run off now and spend time with your friends.”

“What if I want to be friends with you?” He asked.

With a mischievous glint to her eyes, she hummed, “You want to be my friend? Do you see that woman over there?”

Glancing behind him towards the direction she had nodded towards, Finn saw an older woman muffling her sobbing into the letter clutched in her hands. He noticed that the other occupants of the church seemed to pay her no mind and Finn wondered how he hadn’t noticed her himself. Nodding slowly towards Harry, he listened as she said, “Go offer your condolences. Her son has passed.”

Leaning away from her, Finn protested, “I don’t know her. I don’t know her son either. Why should I say something if I don’t mean it?”

“Because it’s kind.” She said simply, as though that alone was reason enough.

“I’m a Shelby,” Finn declared proudly, “I don’t need to be kind.”

He didn’t know why he expected a certain response from her, she hadn’t yet responded as he expected. This was no different. However, he wasn’t at all prepared for the heat behind her words as she hissed with a note of finality, “I don’t make a habit of making friends with rude people.”

And no matter how many times he attempted to initiate conversation or attempt to explain himself, Harry’s eyes never once strayed from her book. And perhaps it was simply his Shelby pride, but he did not cave. He did not glance at the sobbing mess of a woman as he left the church, and he did not apologize to Harry. He was a Shelby after all, or at least that’s what he told himself when he got home to find the picture of his brothers sitting on his bed.

He didn’t care, he had told himself. He didn’t care at all.

It was nine days later that they received their first letter. It was only upon opening it that Finn remembered that he could not read. Just as he couldn’t read the words on the pages of Harry’s book, he could not read the letter his brother had sent. And it was with a frown that he shoved the letter into Ada's waiting hand, insisting that she read it to him.

It was from Arthur and they were alive. And even though Ada’s voice was clear, Finn despised the fact that he couldn’t read it himself.

Harry might have been right but he hardly thought she was being fair! She was as foul to others as he was. She wouldn’t even acknowledge them!

“What has you so distracted?” Ada asked when she realized he wasn’t even paying attention to her. Her eyes scanning over him for any injuries.

“Am I rude?” Finn demanded,

Setting the letter down, she tilted her head and asked, “Right now or in general?”

Her teasing tone did little to dull his frustration and at that moment he decided that Ada and Harry would get along very well.

“Ada!” Finn groaned and was rewarded by his sister’s smirk.

“You can be rude,” Ada shrugged, “But who has you so worried about that?”

“Do you think...John said father was rude.” Finn said, his eyes straying away from Ada’s as he spoke.

Finn didn’t remember his father. But his family’s memories of him were rarely fond. And without truly knowing him, Finn hated him. Hated him for leaving. Hated him for not wanting them. Hated him for being rude.

“Finn, you listen to me. Right now.” Ada said,

And then she was kneeling next to him, her hands digging into his shoulders roughly as she gave him a shake. Her eyes were stormy as she said, “You are nothing like Father. You are better than him, better than all of us, really. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He lied.

-x-

The end of the war seemed to bring more trouble than good. The men that did return were not as they had been before. And Harry knew quite intimately the broken look they wore. And it seemed that even though the war had been fought, there was more violence and fear now than ever before.

And the Shelby boy had stopped coming as well.

It was a good thing, she decided. She did not have to entertain or console the young boy. Instead, she could focus on what was important. She could return to trying to figure out why she was here. Nothing explained the reason she was stuck in this time period. Death was not answering her, and she was growing impatient. Death’s anger had never yet been unwarranted, she’d obviously done something. But she could not recall any soul she had recently meddled with, nothing explained her situation.

“You look troubled,” The words were slurred, and she could smell the alcohol from where she sat. And that could only mean trouble. This hadn’t been the first drunk soldier to stumble into the church, and Harry realized that the church was no longer a quiet place. She would have to find a more permanent residence because her stay was indefinite. 

Her fingers gripped the book in her lap harshly as she tried to contain the magic itching to lash out. She had kept it caged away for too long, and much like her body, it begged to be exercised.

“Leave.” She hissed,

“Fuck off, I could be here to pray for all you know.” The man grumbled, falling into the seat next to her.

Glancing over at the man, Harry felt her mood worsen. She recognized this as one of the men from the photo the Shelby boy had offered her. John if she recalled correctly. And this man was absolutely sloshed.

“You’re drunk.” She said, eyeing the bottle on rum clutched in his hand so tightly that the glass bottle looked near ready to shatter. She wondered if there was any point in trying to wrestle it away from his grasp.

“‘M not. I’m so fucking tired.” He whispered so quietly that she wondered if the words were even meant for her.

Sighing, she reached out and gripped the man’s chin, forcing his face towards her. There was a fear in his eyes, even when drunk. And his eyes darted around at the slightest of noise. As far as she was concerned, he had yet to return from the war.

“If you are tired, go home.” She said,

Slapping her hand away he shook his head and groaned as he covered his face. He said, “It’s too loud. The kids are too loud. Everything’s too loud. I just want some fucking quiet. Why is it never quiet?”

His words had grown more slurred and from the way he clutched at the seat, Harry didn’t suppose he was going to be walking home. His blond hair fell in his face as he glared down at his feet while grumbling about it being too loud and too bright.

Suddenly his head snapped up and he glared at his surroundings before pale eyes settled on hers once more and he demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”

She had half the mind to smack him across the head with her book. Perhaps it would knock some sense into him, and if not that, then maybe it would knock him out and she could sit in silence once more.

“Sleep, Mr.Shelby.” She ordered, letting her magic blanket the air in the church as she added, “Tonight it will be quiet, I promise.”

He gave her the most unimpressed glare but did not argue. After all, the thick magic in the air was already working to dull his throbbing headache. And when his head hit the seat, he was already asleep. And true to her word, Harry kept a close eye on her companion, making sure that his slumber was a peaceful one.

As the first light of the morning shone through the windows, Harry rose to her feet quietly. Tucking the book under her arm, she made her way towards the door of the church, not once glancing back at the slumbering man. Eventually, the man would wake up, even with the questionable people in town, she doubted that someone would slit his throat while he slept. And she had not the time, nor the patience to babysit a Shelby. She wasn’t entirely certain what it was about that family, but there were too many of them since the war ended. And they were everywhere.

-x-

“Moving?” Harry asked, eying the boxes piled dangerously high outside the door of the shop. The couple who had been running around as they tried to collect everything with a speed that suggested this wasn’t a wanted relocation, turned their attention towards her. The woman stepped back, as though uncertain of Harry’s intentions.

The man, however, was quick to shield the woman, and demand, “What’s it to ya?”

“Your shop. I’d like to buy it from you.” Harry said simply,

The man’s dark eyes brightened slightly, and his defensive stance dropped as he threw his head back and laughed. Rubbing his fist over his bloodshot eyes, he said, “This is Peaky Blinders territory, ain’t no one going around selling properties without their go ahead.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Harry glanced down at one of the boxes beside her feet. The fabric that peaked out through the poorly taped box reminded her of the green from the Slytherin crest. Stroking the fabric thoughtfully, she wondered out loud, “What do you care? You’ll be gone before they know.”

The couple regarded her incredulously, as though she were insane to even pose such a question. However, it wasn’t the man who voiced his surprise, but instead, the woman who had originally been cowering behind her husband. Her pale blue eyes were wide, and the tiredness in her eyes made her look both young and old at the same time. Her voice was soft as she said, “You’re not from around here. The Peaky Blinders, they sew blades into their caps. You don’t go against them, not if you enjoy living.”

She wondered if it was appropriate for her to let them know that she rarely enjoyed life. Surely they would be able to understand, and perhaps even sympathize with her. As it stood now, life in Small Heath was far from enjoyable. 

Her hand slipped into the pocket of her coat and in as subtle a manner as one could shuffle through a pocket enchanted with an undetectable extension charm, her hand searched around aimlessly. When she finally felt the familiar cool metal against her skin, she pulled her hand out and held a fistful of galleons towards the couple, the gold glittering under the sun, “They’re pure gold. Let me deal with the Peaky Blinders.”

The couple shared an uncertain glance, and then before Harry could blink, the man had grabbed the gold from her outstretched hand and shoved it in his pocket. 

As she reached for the keys he held out towards her, he grasped her wrist. His lips parted before his eyes zeroed in on the scar on her wrist and he turned her wrist over to read the words cut into her flesh. Frowning, he glanced up at her and said, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

“Never.” She responded politely.

The two made quick work to move the remaining boxes and disappear before the hour was up, and Harry could only watch curiously as the skittish Muggles ran through the shop to collect everything of value. Once they’d collected everything they deemed important enough to take with them, they wished her luck once more, and once the sun was high in the sky, they had departed.

And it turned out that they had left in the nick of time because it was only minutes after their departure that the front door of the shop was slammed open, and she was greeted by the very people that she had hoped to avoid.

As it turned out, spending her entire time in the church had -while granted her the peace she desired- left her unaware of the fact that she had been dealing with these Peaky Blinders the whole time. She considered telling them that the name made them sound far more like peeping toms than dangerous men, but she decided that perhaps it was best not to anger them. After all, they looked angry enough as it were.

“How do you do?” She asked with feigned politeness,

She could see the uncertainty in John’s eyes as he attempted to remember where he had heard the voice before. She supposed in his abbreviated state last night, she would have more closely resembled a blur than a woman and decided that it suited her just fine that he did not recall the specifics of their encounter.

“Where’s David?” John asked immediately, eying the less than desirable state of the shop. His eyes darkened as he realized what the situation was, and a small scowl tugged at his lips.

Harry shrugged, “They’re no longer in possession of the shop. I am.”

“And who are you?”

This was the man Harry had admittedly been most eager to see. Arthur Shelby was a man who was dearly loved by his younger brother. And the man who stood before her, well he was just disappointing.

“It’s rude to ask for someone’s name without offering yours first.” She pointed out, running a hand through her hair, frowning when she found it slightly knotted halfway though.

“We’re the Peaky Blinders.” John said before Arthur could respond to the woman who was watching him with the most unimpressed of looks, “And we want to make you a business proposition. If you don’t want  _ your  _ shop burned down, you pay us a fee and we’ll look after ya.”

She leaned against the counter, undeterred by the man’s declaration. He reminded her of someone, this level of narcissism was something she had previously only attributed to purebloods. 

Running her hands down the material of her trousers, which she noticed resulted in very strange looks for the men, she said, “To clarify, you would like for me to pay you for protection from yourselves.”

Her statement seemed to startle the men, of perhaps startle was not the best word to use. Her words seemed to be met with more than a healthy amount of anger. She supposed she did not quite react how they had intended. 

She imagined that they had never been challenged by the people they...protected. But she needed no protection from men who had built themselves up through violence and greed. And certainly, she could not see them protecting themselves if she lashed out, let alone protecting her from other magical dangers. She entertained the thought of propositioning an auror upon her return home to do the job they offered, after all, she did seem to attract trouble.

“Small Heath ain’t a safe place. And a small thing like you, they’d have you against your wall in seconds.” Arthur Shelby pointed out, his eyes watching her carefully. His tone sounded sympathetic, but Harry could tell it was the farthest thing from genuine. She didn’t imagine that Arthur Shelby would care what happened to her one way or the other.

But to her it was humorous.

The mental image of a muggle holding her to the wall flitted through her mind and she couldn’t stop the amusement that surfaced at the thought. Small Heath was a shite hole, but she was certainly not worried about her well being in the slightest.

She did smile then, it had been so long since someone had underestimated her. There was something so ironic about it that she could only just contain the laugh that slipped out as she strode towards them.

“You’ll find gentlemen, that I am capable of protecting myself from all the dangers of Small Heath, yourselves included.” She said,

And then she took a step back, grinning impishly towards the men before turning to lean against the counter. Draping her arms over the counter and leaning over it, she asked, “If that’s all?”

He finally spoke then, the man who had only been watching her up until now, Thomas Shelby. His eyes held anger that made it clear that he did not like to be challenged. But there was something underneath it, something that suggested the perhaps Thomas Shelby loved challenges. Or at least, that Thomas Shelby loved stepping over challenging people.

And then, he angled his head back and said, “Either you pay us, or we burn it down.”

He had said the words in the blandest of tones, his features far more schooled than those of his siblings. Thomas Shelby may not have been the oldest, but he was certainly in charge.

At his words, Harry let out an offended gasp as she chided, “With a woman inside, how deplorable, soldiers.”

Her words lacked the fear they had been expecting and she wasn’t certain if they thought she did not believe them or if she were certifiably insane. She assumed that it was the latter, it usually was with Muggles.

“You think we’re fucking lying?” John demanded, his hands curling into fists at his side. “We’re the fucking Peaky Blinders.”

Sighing, she turned her full attention to the man. 

She was aware that her direct gaze unsettled others. The remnants of such dark magic had left her eyes a most chilling shade of green. She herself could not bear to look at her reflection for longer than a second, lest she wished to be reminded of the war, the death and the smell of burning flesh. It did not take a Wizard to realize that there was something very wrong with those eyes. This man, however, didn’t immediately redirect his gaze, and instead, his body stiffened. Even sober, he did not shy away from her gaze, but instead, the soldier stiffened.

She could see it in his eyes, the look of desperation. It seemed that after coming home from war, John was desperate for some semblance of power. She saw it then, the look of recognition in his eyes. Even having been intoxicated, he couldn’t forget those eyes.

Taking pity on the man, she lowered her gaze to the gun he now clutched in his hand and said, “Yes, you’ve said that in every statement you’ve uttered.”

“My apologies,” Thomas said, eying the uncertain look that his brother had adopted with curiosity. 

His expression, however, was anything but apologetic. Instead, his expression was almost bored. She wondered what in the world could obtain a reaction from this man, and a real reaction, not one that was so filtered and intentional. And then he added, “We’ll give you some time. Maybe then you’ll be able to put a price on how much you value your safety.”

The threat in his words was plain as day. He might as well have told her he’d come back and slit her throat and call it day. His words rubbed her the wrong way, and perhaps it was just her reckless nature, or possibly her current situation with Death, but she couldn’t quite bite back her retort as she responded, “How childish to think any life has value. The world will continue to spin after every single one of us is dead, let’s not delude ourselves by thinking any of us is important.”

The statement was as loaded as his own, she might as well have told him that his life had no more value than her own, which was none at all. She didn’t realize that they were glaring at each other, didn’t even know that her hand was already inching towards her wand.

“Tommy,” John said, glancing between her and his brother warily. It seemed that he too noticed the tension between the two of them. She could understand his worry, they were coiled like serpents waiting to strike. She imagined that if they’d been alone at the moment, this discussion might have come to a bloody conclusion.

His brothers it seemed were far brighter than him as Arthur too grasped his brother’s arm and insisted, “Tommy, let’s go.”

That’s what it took, both his brothers holding him back for him to let his shoulders fall. Shaken from his stupor, he tipped his cap towards her, before saying, “We’ll be back.”

“I’m trembling with excitement.” She grumbled, even as the men stalked out of the shop. 

Her eyes followed them through the window. Or perhaps that was incorrect, her eyes followed him, just the same way that he held her gaze as he passed by the window. It bothered her how easily Thomas Shelby was able to meet her gaze, how unbothered he was by the unnatural power that lurked behind them.

And it was only after they’d left that she relaxed.

There was just something about that family, something that she did not like.

  
  



	2. Stirring the Pot

She never believed herself to have deserved the title of the Devil of Small Heath, it was one appointed to her by the superstitious churchgoers and was quick to fade when she stepped foot outside the church. Or perhaps it was quick to fade at the return of the Shelbys.

In fact, after the war, the title was appointed to that Shelby brother, Thomas. The one who had looked ready to fight her, the leader of the Peaky Blinders gang. It suited her just fine, she didn’t deserve it anyhow, it suited Thomas Shelby far more than it could ever suit her. 

The one thing that was common knowledge in Small Heath was that the Shelby family ran it, and whoever had the ill fortune of finding themselves in their company often found themselves in sudden bouts of trouble with the law. 

And it was that very thing which left Harry anxiously awaiting their return, not that she would ever care to admit that such people were more than passing thoughts. And so, when the Shelby man did return, she was both anxious and also perhaps more intensely hopeful that this would be their last encounter.

“Have you had time to consider my offer?” He asked, glancing around at the poor state of the shop with a blank expression on his face. While it looked cleaner than before, there was still a great deal of mess and an array of boxes laying around. And he hated a mess, even though he tried to hide his distaste behind his mask of indifference.

 _My_ offer, he’d said, not _their_ offer. It only served to confirm her speculation that Thomas Shelby was in charge of all of the questionable activity the Peaky Blinders dabbled in. And with this knowledge in mind, Harry decided that she definitely disliked Thomas Shelby.

As he turned his attention back to her, he reached into the pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of smokes. Ignoring the way her face scrunched up, he brought the cigarette to his lips and held it in place as his other hand fished around his pocket for the light.

“Those kill.” She said stiffly, eying the smoke, as well as the man holding it, with a great amount of distaste. 

“How the fuck is a smoke gonna kill you?” He questioned around his cigarette, finally pulling his lighter out of his pocket. His eyebrows were drawn in confusion as he looked at her as though she’d said something utterly foolish.

And perhaps she had, after all, she had spent most of her time in the confines of the church. During which time, it was lost on her that there were little differences between her time and this one. The big ones, she could remember easily enough. It was the little differences that would serve to hinder her. The smokes, the clothes, the little things that anyone born in this time would know to be true.

But she supposed that no one’s first instinct when faced with a statement they knew to be false would be to scream “time traveler” at the top of their lungs. They’d simply think her simple-minded. And Harry didn’t care if Thomas Shelby thought her to be simple-minded.

She’d prefer it if he didn’t think of her at all.

“Just the passing hope that you’ll choke on it and die.” She responded immediately, her lips tilted downwards into a small frown.

Her statement was harsh, perhaps too harsh for a stranger, even a threatening one. But Harry might not have known him personally, but she certainly knew of men like him. Men who ruled through fear and violence. Men who needed to be brought down before they burned everything good to ash.

And it was childish, she would admit it if ever reflecting on that particular moment, but she couldn’t quite contain her magic. And she was almost able to keep the smirk off her face as her magic wafted in the air and extinguished his cigarette that he had only just lit.

His curious gaze only flickered momentarily before he lit the damn thing again, this time purposely exhaling the mouthful of smoke in her direction.

“I am still not interested.” She declared, her fingers drumming against the counter as she added, “You’re welcome to try and burn the store down, but I fear you’ll need more than that smoke you’ve got there.”

His gaze remained impassive at her words, as silence hung in the air for a moment. Finally, he said, “Your stay here could be very unpleasant.”

“I can hardly imagine it being anything but.” Her biting response, she realized was only in part directed towards him. She had grown tired of this nonsense and she wanted to be home. She wanted the monotonous existence she had grown accustomed to.

“London?” His voice snapped her free from her thoughts, and for a moment she blinked owlishly at him, not quite registering that he had spoken at all. But he was looking at her expectantly, so she assumed that he had.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you from London? You have the posh accent.” He said the word ‘posh’ as though it were something truly foul. As though it was the worst thing to be, a disgusting thing. 

“Thereabouts,” She responded vaguely with a wave of her hand. And then, suddenly her eyes adopted a sharpness as she asked, “Is this your poor attempt at an interrogation?”

When he only angled his head slightly, she asked again, “Does my unwillingness to submit to your unreasonable demands make me a threat?”

His lips stretched into a small smile around the smoke held between his lips as he regarded her with an intensity that she did not understand before he said, “It doesn’t make you a threat, it makes you delusional.”

“Delusional,” She said slowly, tasting the word before she hummed, “Is it peculiar that I’d use that very word to describe people you?”

“Great minds think alike.” He said, leaning his forearm on the counter, lessening the distance between them as he drawled, “I can promise you that you’ve never met someone like me. I fear I’ve made a bad first impression, and am in the process of making a worse second one. I feel like we should start over.”

He sounded absolutely charming, and if she didn’t hear the rumors circulating, she might think that this man was anything but a liar. But as it so happened, she wasn’t quite that stupid. 

She didn’t know if it was his words or his tone but it forced old memories to the surface. And suddenly the man standing before her was younger, and his eyes were no longer the striking blue, but instead a dark brown. 

And she hated him. 

She had pitied him once, but having had to collect the souls of his younger victims, her pity had long turned to rage. She hated Tom Riddle, and perhaps she too hated Thomas Shelby. And even though her words were meant more for the prior, she said them just the same, “The only impression you’ve made, is that you’re a broken man who likes breaking other people.”

He watched her closely, and it felt as though he saw through her. It seemed at that moment, that both of them were talking to ghosts from their pasts. She wondered for a passing second, who he was talking to when he offered, “Perhaps you’re simply too easy to break?”

“I never break.” She declared, her eyes bright in anger, following his movements like a wounded predator.

He put his cigarette out on the counter, dangerously close to where her arm was placed, almost threateningly close as he said, “I want you to remember those words. We can look back on them as you crumble when you finally understand that Small Heath is no place for posh little girls playing pretend.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘we’,” Harry said flicking the cigarette butt from her counter, “And let’s not delude ourselves, only one of us is pretending to be something they’re not.”

“You’re a challenging one,” He said after a moment, pushing away from the counter as he admitted, “I don’t like challenges.”

He said those words confidently, and Harry remembered her thoughts from their first encounter. She didn’t believe his statement to hold any truth. No, she believed that Thomas Shelby loved surprises. After all, if there were no surprises, then life would be endlessly boring, she knew that.

“Bold of you to assume that I care what you like,” She declared.

Looking back, Harry decided that those were the words that had been the final nail in the coffin. 

With those words, she had piqued his interest and destroyed any hope of ridding the Peaky Blinders from her life. It didn’t help when she noticed the look in those blue eyes, as though she’d said everything he’d ever hoped for. She understood then that Thomas Shelby had not returned with the hope that she would have conceded. No, he had come with the hope that she would have retaliated, just as she had.

-x-

It seemed that people in Small Heath had little to do but talk. Something that should have been obvious considering the bland and boring place they called home.

At least, unlike the whispers of Hogwarts, the people in Small Heath seemed to know the most peculiar things. And more importantly, their whispers no longer focused on her. Since the return of the Shelby men, the rumor mill was focused solely on them. Or things that concerned them. Such as the fact that an inspector had found his way into Small Heath, and he seemed to have a particular distaste towards the Shelby family. Not that she could fault him for that.

From what she’d heard, the man was no better than the Shelbys. He was apparently no less violent and did not possess the calm temperament that she expected from lawmen in general. Perhaps it was simply the men of this era that were disappointing.

Through her window, her eyes narrowed on the stumbling man and she pondered on what course of action to take. She did not like the Shelby men. She did not like the fact that they were everywhere. 

Even in the dead of night, they could not be avoided. 

Not that Arthur Shelby looked capable of much as he stumbled down the street in the direction of what she hoped was his home. He looked so pathetic in fact, that she couldn’t quite force down the pity she felt and before she could register her actions, she was already walking out of the shop and towards the man.

Their previous interaction had not been the best. And as she wondered how exactly to approach the man, she hoped that he was more tolerable in this state. Not that her previous interactions with Shelby men had ever been tolerable.

“You look like you need help,” Harry said, as she came to a halt a good few feet away from him, as not to startle the battered man. She didn’t imagine anyone in his state would respond well to a fright, it didn’t help that the man had come home from war not too long ago.

His eyes were quick to jump to hers like some manner of wounded beast, and he struggled to remember who she was. After all, their encounter must have been a blip on his radar. From what she heard, the Peaky Blinders stirred trouble quite frequently without paying it much thought. It was hard to imagine that she was the only one in town they had been threatening.

The smell of blood saturated the air and she wondered if Arthur Shelby would even be making it to tomorrow, but by the looks of it, his wound was not so perilous.

"Can I help you?” She offered, raising her hands in a gesture of peace.

His eyes hardened at her offer but before he could refuse her, his large body slumped and he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She was quick to grasp his arm, and with only a quick glance at their surroundings, she apparated.

Her landing was fine.

His, however, was terrible as her grip on his arm couldn’t quite bear the weight of his unconscious body. He crashed onto the wooden table close to the window, and Harry could only wince at the sound. It sounded painful, very painful.

If he hadn’t passed out during the apparating, then that fall had certainly done the job effectively. She supposed it made her job easier. 

Heaving his body onto the table, she inspected his injuries slowly. Luckily for the man, even though he was cloaked in the coppery smell of his own blood, his injuries were not as terrible as they seemed.

In fact, she wondered if she could just drop him back where she’d found him. But she supposed it wouldn’t be the smartest of ideas. There seemed to be eyes everywhere in Small Heath, and she would rather they not whisper about how she was seen disposing of a Shelby corpse in the dead of night. 

Sighing, she glanced down at the pocket of his torn coat and she considered for a moment whether it was a good idea to be looking through a gangster’s pockets, but decided that an unconscious gangster wasn’t quite as threatening as one who was awake. From his pocket, she pulled out the cap that had been peeking through and she inspected it carefully. 

It seemed that the rumors were correct, the cool metal of the razor sparkled prettily when the light hit it. She couldn’t stop the amused smile from surfacing on her lips when she thought of someone running into a fight with a cap as their weapon, but the smile was quick to wither away when she realized that these men had probably hurt quite a few people. A cap was a foolish weapon, a razor, however, could do a fair amount of damage.

It was a sneaky thing to do, hiding a razor into an unassuming article of clothing. There was something underhanded about it that did not sit well with her. And she decided that if she was going to help the man, she would take the thing as payment.

Digging her finger into the material just above the razor, she pulled the razor free from the cap. Now, if Arthur Shelby were to try to use his cap as a weapon, he’d simply look like a fool hitting someone with a cap. Fitting, she decided. Tossing the cap onto his body, she threw the razor into the box laying in a corner near the table before whipping out her wand. 

With a few quick spells, the man was as clean as she was going to get him. His clothes were still bloodied, but his wounds were no longer present. 

Gripping his arm carefully, she dragged his body towards the door. She may have pitied him enough to offer her help, but she certainly wasn’t going to let a Shelby stay the night. They were angry little buggers. 

Once she reached the door, she let his body fall once more. He looked quite pathetic at that moment, and she wondered how this man was Finn’s favorite. John may have been easy to anger but he was quick and his mind was sharper than he let on. And where she hated Thomas Shelby more than any other sibling, she could see him being someone his brother could look up to. And yet, Arthur Shelby was Finn’s favorite. The boy had himself claimed to be the farthest thing from bright but she still couldn’t quite understand it. 

“Rennervate,” She said, before quickly sliding her wand back into the holster strapped to her forearm and preparing herself for what would certainly be a very angry awakening.

As Arthur Shelby rose with a groan, Harry wondered if he knew that he looked quite like the living dead. The man ran his hands through his messy hair, his eyebrows furrowed as he registered that he no longer felt any pain. He wondered if he had dreamt of being battered until his fingers ran over his torn clothing and he realized that he had certainly been beat, even though he didn’t feel like it any longer.

And then he realized where he was.

Quickly pulling himself up, he gripped his cap close to himself as his eyes snapped around awaiting an enemy. When his eyes met her unimpressed form leaning against the door of her shop, he demanded, “What the fuck happened? You working with ‘im?”

“How am I to know what transpired, Mr.Shelby? It didn’t happen to me.” She responded and watched happily as the man tried to remember what had transpired after his beating. None could say that Arthur Shelby was the brightest of his brothers, that much was certain.

As he staggered away from her and towards the direction he had initially been heading, he raised his hand and pointed threateningly towards her, “If I find you had anything to do with it, I’ll getcha. You don’t wanna be against us.”

“Mr.Shelby, I may not know what happened to you, but I certainly don’t think you were on the winning side.” She said slowly, 

He glared at her as he staggered away, and as he did so, his hands ran across his body. His confusion and shock at his lack of wounds did little to dull Harry’s curiosity. Who in Small Heath would be daft enough to attack one of the Peaky Blinders?

If it had been the new Inspector, she certainly wasn’t looking forward to meeting him. It seemed that even the police and their inspector were not quite as good as one would expect them to be. And she supposed she understood why the people seemed to throw around the title of Devil so easily. It was because Small Heath was hell, and some fool needed to run it.

-x-

Since the end of the war, the church was swept. It seemed that the people of Small Heath only really visited the place when they had something to ask of God. And with their men back from the war, they didn’t have much need for a higher power.

This was why Harry found herself back in the familiar place. It was quiet and empty, and it was beautiful too. And she took a seat where she always sat and flipped open the pages of her book. It was a boring thing on the topic of time travel, and one that she’d previously read cover to cover. But she had exhausted her resources and was once again sorting through the texts in an effort to find a solution to her situation.

“Most people read the bible when they come to church.”

The woman had taken a seat beside her, and Harry recognized her almost immediately. This was the woman that Finn had accompanied many times. This was his Aunt Polly, dressed in all black with an expression so intimidating that Harry would wager it could make grown men crumble. And she wondered how difficult her life had been for her to have perfected such a look.

“I’ve always found it so horribly paced, quite predictable too.” Harry hummed, her eyes returning to the pages of her book as she admitted, “Your nephew believes me to be a Devil.”

“My nephew believes a lot of things,” Polly said, and something was lurking under her tone that caused Harry’s head to snap up. Her gaze returned to the dark-haired woman, only to find Polly watching her closely, her lips pressed together and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Harry couldn’t squash her curiosity that surfaced and before she could stop herself, she asked, “What do you believe?”

She didn’t wait for her answer though, because the moment the woman’s eyes met her own, Harry was already tearing through her mind. 

And in her memories, she saw her family - the very people that Harry had immediately despised due to their moral alignment. The ones she’d dismissed as foul, she saw them through the woman’s eyes. She saw them smiling and laughing. She saw the love between them. She saw the humanity in them. 

And that was bad. Because it humanized them more than Harry would have liked. She preferred seeing them as monsters, she preferred a world separated in black and white. She couldn’t accept the murky gray that lurked between, not as the Master of Death. Not as somebody who had previously judged hundreds of souls.

There was no gray, there couldn’t be. Not with her. Not with them. Not with this.

She pushed those thoughts and memories away, tore them from her own mind. As far as she was concerned, the Peaky Blinders possessed no redeeming qualities.

And she quickly sought out her own face in the mind of the woman. She saw herself through her eyes, a dark thing. Polly saw her as something dangerous. Through the woman's eyes, she saw herself sitting in the church, she saw glimpses of books that covered questionable topics, and she saw the shop front advertising fortune-telling. Overall, there was one word that echoed through her mind when Polly thought of her.

Chov’hani.

Harry didn’t recognize the word, but all the same, she didn’t recognize the dialect in the woman’s head either. But whatever it meant, it was important to the image of her that the woman had compiled in her head.

“I believe you’re trouble.” 

That was all Polly said, before rising to her feet. 

She ignored her after that, choosing instead to shift towards the altar. She handled the small candles with care, lighting each one before setting it down on the altar. She seemed consumed in thought as she did so, and over the pages of her book, Harry watched her carefully.

And then the door to the church was slammed open and the silence was once again shattered by the sounds of heavy footsteps against the floor.

He was a man, dressed in fine clothes, and Harry would wonder why bad men chose to dress in nice clothing. Over his suit, he wore a long trench coat. He was older, with greying hair under his stupid little hat, and he had arrogance in his eyes.

He paid her no attention, his gaze fixed on the Shelby woman who’d turned to chastise him about wearing a hat indoors and carrying with him a lit pipe. And at her words, he had been quick to put out his pipe against one of the pews. 

But he was the farthest thing from polite as he advanced towards the woman.

Harry may not have liked Shelbys but she certainly appreciated the strong manner in which Polly held herself up, as though the man was nothing but a bug under her shoe.

Since neither of them seemed concerned about her being there, Harry returned her attention to the pages of her book. She’d read the same passage three times now, having retained nothing still. This was due to the fact that she was still listening in to their conversation, regardless of how she’d deny it. Not that she cared for the business that they were discussing. It was simply the fact that Harry didn’t trust this man.

Her distrust seemed to be correctly placed when the sound of a body hitting the table caused her gaze to snap up and find the Inspector with his hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the woman.

“Is that how you question civilians, Inspector?” Harry asked, closing the book and laying it down beside her.

He seemed to notice her finally, and she wondered if he’d even seen her sitting in the corner when he’d first come in. The surprise on his face made her doubt it. The fingers digging into the woman’s neck twitched slightly at her question, but he made no move to let her go.

“A larger man, with his hand around a respectable woman’s throat,” Harry said slowly, “Surely you can understand my concern?”

He dropped his hand quickly at her accusation, his features darkening with a look of disgust as he glanced between Polly and herself. And then something akin to recognition flashed in his eyes as he dragged them over her face.

He advanced towards her quickly. And then he reached out and gripped her chin in between his calloused fingers, angling her head up to look at him. Harry had never liked being touched, but she hated being touched by him even more so. 

And perhaps it was simply the arrogance in his gaze, but she could feel her magic bleed into her irises, further illuminating her eyes.

“They say a woman was seen talking to Arthur Shelby last night. Not sure what respectable woman would be out at such hours.” He said, digging his fingers into her jaw as he forced her head up to inspect her eyes. Clicking his tongue he asked, “I don’t suppose that was you?”

“Are you calling me a whore?” She asked, her tone dangerously monotone as she met his gaze. 

She had to remind herself that while the man was foul, he was still a muggle. 

And so she forced down the magic that pulsed inside her and reached up to grip the hand holding her chin. Nails digging into the flesh, she used all the force she could muster to yank it away from her face. She could tell the moment she tore through the skin, and with all the restraint she could manage, she dropped his hand, opting instead to rub her throbbing jaw.

Sneering down at her, he asked, “You got a name?” 

He made the mistake of meeting her gaze, and perhaps he thought that he could intimidate her. She imagined he’d never have done it if he knew that she’d be in his head at the next moment, sifting through his head with practiced ease.

“We are in a holy place,” She drawled when she’d found something of significance. And she leaned back against the pew, an image of relaxation as she hummed, “It may not be my name, but, you can call me Grace.”

It was the slightest shift in his features, the shock that danced over his face before his eyes were dragging over her face trying to figure out whether she knew something that could potentially spell danger for him. He needed to know if she knew something that she should not have.

Her lips stretched into a teasing smile as she drummed her finger against the book beside her and watched an array of emotions flash over his face. And then, she rose to her feet, smoothing the fabric of her shirt before glancing at the woman who stood silently near the altar, watching this interaction. The Shelby woman only watched her with a narrowed gaze, trying to understand what was happening. 

Tossing her a small wink, Harry returned her attention to the man who seemed fixed in place, not certain on how to react and said, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering what I know. Let me put your mind at ease. I know everything.”

It was an exaggeration, a very big lie. She’d hardly sorted through enough of his thoughts to know more than the bare minimum. She didn’t care to spend much time in his head, and she certainly didn’t care for what business he had with the Peaky Blinders.

She did, however, care about the way he behaved while in a position of power. After all, Harry had never believed violence and fear to be very good motivators. And she needed to discourage the behavior before he caused any more damage.

“If you ever touch anyone like that again - I don’t care if it’s a child, woman or a man,” Harry whispered, tilting her head towards the man’s ear to ensure that her next statement remained between them and did not fall on prying ears, “I will ruin you.”

  
  
  
  



	3. Foul Company

Polly Gray was used to her nephews causing trouble. And while John was quick to anger, and Arthur was too quick to be charmed by a pretty face and long legs, the nephew who caused the most trouble was Tommy. Tommy who felt the need to keep secrets from his family, and bring about trouble without caring for the consequences.

She had only hoped that Finn would not take after his brothers. However, the way he had gravitated towards the strange woman from the church made her believe that he’d be just as much trouble. 

There was something wrong about that woman. It was clear as day. It was in the way she looked, in the way she acted, in the shop she owned, it was in everything about her. She was a Chov’hani or a witch she supposed since the woman clearly wasn’t a Gypsy.

And Polly Gray wasn’t stupid enough to upset someone like that.

But after seeing the effect her words had on the Inspector, she couldn’t stop herself from following the woman out of the church and into the street.

She wasn’t surprised to see the number of people still out on the street being harassed by the coppers. There was screaming and shouting and violence all about. 

And amidst all the motion, the dark-haired woman stood abnormally still. It seemed that she had been expecting her because when Polly exited the church, she found the woman leaning against the wall of the church, her book clutched close to her chest and her eyes narrowed on the disastrous state of the street.

“Polly, right?” She asked, her accent betraying her upper-class upbringing. Her eyes didn’t shift away from the violence as she spoke.

She was a contradiction. Her words were posh, her behavior was oddly unbothered and bordered on condescending. But she was a small thing under her oversized clothing which looked to be poorly made. Her stunted appearance suggested a bad childhood, and the scar that covered a large part of her forehead certainly supported it.

All the same, she looked dangerous.

Crossing her arms across her chest, Polly fixed the woman with a hard stare as she said, “I assumed you didn’t help me out of the goodness of your heart.”

“You assume I have a heart?” She quipped in response, her posture as relaxed as always as she began to walk in the direction of her shop, the direction away from all the ruckus. She clearly assumed that Polly would follow. 

Polly did not.

And it was after she’d walked a good few feet away from her and noticed that Polly did not trail after her like a dog that the woman tilted her head back and coaxed her, “Wouldn’t you care to know about why he was so shaken?”

“What do you want?” Polly asked skeptically. Nobody gave away anything for free, not in Small Heath at least.

At this, the woman smiled, and it was strained on her face, as though she hadn’t smiled in a very long time. Tucking the book under her arm, she admitted, “I’m sure you’ve seen that I appreciate my solitude. Recently, your nephew and I have found ourselves disagreeing on certain things. I fear I may have piqued his interest.”

Polly’s lips twitched at the sheer contempt that dripped from the woman’s words as she spoke of her nephew. It was very rare for women to not enjoy the company of the Peaky Blinders, and even the priss and proper women were quick to fall for their charms.

Not that this Chov’hani was the type of woman her nephews typically went for. They preferred the soft, pretty women who were strong-willed but not so strong-willed as to challenge them. 

This woman, however, was not pretty in the classical sense. Her features were too sharp, too battered and too challenging. And Polly didn’t need to guess whose interest she’d gained.

And Polly swore that Tommy had a fucking death wish to go round picking fights with a Witch. 

“How do I know you aren’t working with the pleasant Inspector?” Polly asked, “Trying to get information from us?”

“If I wanted to weasel myself into your  _ questionable _ family business, I wouldn’t go through the guarded woman.” She answered, her bright eyes narrowed as she added, “I’ve always found men to be more malleable.”

“You said your name was Grace?”

“No, I said he could call me Grace.” She shrugged, “Did you see how he reacted?”

Polly opted to ignore the teasing lilt in her tone, and instead strode to follow the woman. And it was with great reluctance that Polly could see how she’d garnered Tommy’s interest. After all, Tommy may have liked the company of pretty women, but he cared more about how useful someone could be.

“Why are you telling me this?” Polly demanded, 

As they reached the door to the woman’s shop, she was quick to explain.

“Convince your nephews to leave me alone.”

Polly scoffed, “You assume they listen to anything other than their cocks.”

“They better,” The woman said, her tone of voice losing its easiness, and instead, becoming cold as she pushed, “To be honest, I don’t care about any of you one way or the other. I’m not afraid of you. Your interest is simply a nuisance. But I expect to be left alone, and I will go to extreme lengths to ensure that I don’t find myself in such foul company.”

The threat in her words was clear, hovering in the air between them. And the air around her seemed to crackle. Once more, Polly thought that she looked dangerous, she didn’t look human.

Polly had never been easily bothered by the opinions or threats of others. She was a strong woman, and she belonged to a strong family. But she couldn’t quite keep her shoulders from stiffening as the woman disappeared into her shop.

-x-

“Can I get you anything to drink?” 

The waitress was pretty, with her wavy blonde hair and bright eyes. Her clothing was modest, and she held herself with a confidence that made Harry feel as though she didn’t belong in Small Heath. Her accent made it quite certain that she was far from home.

“Yes,” Harry nodded, realizing that she’d be staring for perhaps a moment too long, “Surprise me.”

The blonde only smiled slightly at her statement, glancing around the selection quickly before reaching for a bottle. As she grabbed a clean glass, she asked with the teasing lilt, “How do you know I won’t just sell you the most expensive drink we have?”

Eying the glass being offered to her, Harry shrugged. Sifting through her pockets, she pulled out a few coins and slid them across the counter before accepting the glass with a small nod. Licking her lips as she eyed the golden liquid curiously before responding, “Because it’d be very foolish of you to tell me of your wicked plan prior to taking my money.”

She twirled the glass experimentally in her hand, in a manner not unlike one she’d seen the man sitting further down the bar do. She didn’t miss the barmaid’s amused glances being thrown her way. And so, she raised the glass to her lips and took a generous mouthful. She swished the liquid in her mouth for a moment before swallowing, unbothered by the burn that followed.

“How do you like it? The barmaid asked, 

Her response was bland, “It tastes like piss.”

Harry watched her work intently, noticing how the intoxicated men in the bar chattered with her. They seemed to spew out secrets without even pausing to consider them. Harry herself was not unaware of the effects of alcohol, but having always been one who was privy to many dangerous secrets, she’d never cared to put herself in such a vulnerable situation.

But she wasn’t here to drink, not really. She was here to see the barmaid who was helping the Inspector. She wasn’t what Harry had expected. After all, Harry had always believed that the best spies were the inconspicuous ones. Grace was too pretty for that. She assumed that the Inspector was hoping that Grace would be able to charm one of the men. Harry could see that happening quite easily.

Not that she cared what happened between the Inspector and the Peaky Blinders, but Harry wanted to know the pieces on the chessboard if only a little.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked when the woman stood before her once more. And without waiting for a response, she asked, “Do men frequently share their woes with you?”

A sly smirk flittered on her lips as she leaned in, and in a conspiratorial tone she said, “Men always tell their troubles to a barmaid.”

“Even the Inspector?” Harry asked without missing a beat, and she received the exact reaction she had been expecting.

Her question seemed to startle the woman quite a bit if the way she fumbled with the glass in her hand was any indication. It tumbled from her grasp, and for a moment Harry wondered if she’d be able to grab it before it smashed against the bartop. And before she could ponder on that for too long, her own hand snapped out and grasped the glass before it could make contact with the bartop with practiced ease. 

She inspected the glass for a moment before placing it right in front of the woman who had now schooled her expression. Regarding her with a guarded expression, the barmaid said, “He hasn’t come here.”

Shrugging blandly, Harry asked, “But you’ve met him? You know who I’m talking about?”

She was a bad liar, Harry decided. But she supposed someone might be willing to overlook that for a pretty face.

“I’ve seen him,” she responded, wiping the glass down, as she added, “Everyone’s been talking about him. Apparently, he’s been making quite a mess.”

Harry wanted to scoff at the statement. Energetic children made messes. Fumbling barmaids made messes. Breaking down doors, harassing innocent people, and throwing around women fell just over the tip of making a mess. 

Perhaps it was simply her own distaste for the man which caused the sneer to curl at her lips. She still couldn’t dismiss the images of children screaming and running away, and that memory has somehow weaved itself into the memory of the battle of Hogwarts. And if there was one thing she hated, it was remembering the past. Remembering all the lives that had been lost, remembering everything she’d lost. If she tried, and if she wanted, she could go now and ensure that the future did not turn out so bleak. She could find Merope Gaunt, ensuring that Tom Marvolo Riddle was never born. 

There would be others, Death had told her on the numerous occasions she’d entertained the idea of meddling with time. Warned her that she would never be allowed to take such liberties with the souls that belonged to Death. 

Realizing that she’d long been scowling at the empty glass she’d been clutching, she loosened her grip slowly, one finger at a time. Glancing up, she found that the barmaid had abandoned her position, and judging for the way she busied herself with the men occupying the other end of the bar, she had overstayed her welcome. 

-x-

“The fortune-teller is off-limits.”

Polly’s words were met with silence, no one had missed the hard edge to her tone. This wasn’t a request, this was an order. And judging from the look Arthur and John shared from across the table, it was not altogether surprising.

Tommy, who sat at the head of the table, sat as relaxed as ever. Nothing about his posture revealed that her announcement had affected him in any way, save for the way that his lit smoke hovered away from his lips unmoving.

“Understood?” Polly asked, her eyes narrowed and her arms folded across her chest.

Before any words of agreement could be thrown her way, Tommy was quick to move his hand to point at Arthur whose lips were parted to speak as he said, “Don’t answer that.”

And then Tommy turned his attention to Polly, a calculating look in his blue eyes as he studied the stiffness of her posture. Then the calculating look was replaced by anger and he demanded, “What did she say to you?”

Her nephews were many things. They were reckless, they were wild, but they had always been family-oriented. And a threat to one of their own was never handled with anything other than violence. And judging from the expressions on their faces, they didn’t intend to approach this with anything else.

“The Chov’hani is off-limits.” Polly said again, slamming her hands down on the table as she hissed, “Are you all so stupid that you don’t see she ain’t right? And you threaten to burn down her shop? Are you all fucking mad?! If she wants to be left alone, you idiots leave her alone.”

“You think she’s a Chov’hani? You sure she just ain’t mad?” Arthur asked, an amused smile on his lips that was quick to wither away under Polly’s glare.

Polly’s retort did not make it past her lips, because it was John who spoke immediately after Arthur’s question. 

“She ain’t...mad.” He said, his eyes adopting a dazed look before he shook his head and said, “Pol’s right. She’s trouble.”

“Fine,” Arthur conceded, throwing back the remaining amber liquid in his cup before he pushed away from the table with a shrug, “I don’t care any which way. She’s annoying, is what she is.”

“Tommy?” Polly pushed, noting that one person her words were targeted towards had yet to agree. 

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t agree like his brothers. Instead, he leaned over the table and demanded in a low voice, “Did she threaten you?”

-x-

“I don’t care for threats.”

She didn’t look up from the cup of tea she was making as she said, “Here I thought you might have enjoyed them. You certainly give them away freely.”

“You misunderstand,” He said, slipping his cap off of his head and tucking it into the pocket of his coat before he shrugged that off as well. He held it in his hand for a moment before his gaze settled on the coat rack tucked snuggly behind the door and he slipped his coat over one of the silver hooks. And then he said, “I don’t care if you threaten me, I get them a lot. But my family is off-limits.”

She only glanced over at him, seemingly unaffected by the iciness coating his words. And with the last light of the evening falling in through the windows, he watched her prepare another cup of tea in the very expensive looking china she had on the table.

Her dark hair was pulled away from her face and the haphazard bun was secured only by a thin stick shoved through. And with her hair pulled away from her neck, he could see a long and silvery scar dip into the collar of her shirt.

“Ooh, are we establishing boundaries?” She asked lightly, as she pulled one of the teacups in her direction before pushing the other one in the opposite direction, where he stood as she watched him with an expectant gaze.

“You could say that.”

“May I propose another that puts an end to these interactions?” She asked, her eyes still fixed on him.

And it was with an easy swagger that he found himself taking a seat across from her at the table. He eyed the cup with a little wariness, wondering how expensive the thing was. It looked like the shit you’d see in those posh London tea rooms that Ada had always wanted to go into when she’d been younger. The kind of places that people like them didn’t get to go to. The kind of things that people like him didn’t get to touch.

Something about that very thought made a childish part of him want to break it. It was a pretty, and delicate thing that was expected to be handled with care. Who the fuck actually spent money on shit like that?

As though noticing his inner turmoil as he stared down at the cup of tea, the woman across from him scoffed. And then, she quickly swiped her hand across the table, causing the cup before her to slide off the table and fall onto the ground. As he had expected, the thing shattered into many pieces.

“It’s a teacup, Mr.Shelby,” She said easily, “I will live, should you find your barbaric nature extends to the handling of fine china.”

He scoffed at her attitude, her words only solidifying his initial assumption that she was just some posh girl. Only people with money spoke about replacing things so easily. Still, he raised the cup to his lips to sip at the warm liquid.

“I want us to be friends,” He said, setting the cup down onto its matching saucer.

He didn’t, not really.

He couldn’t see himself actually being friends with someone outside his family, and definitely not with someone like her. After the war, he had found it harder to trust others after seeing the animalistic nature of people. But he could see value in her, where Polly could only see trouble.

She didn’t seem too impressed with the idea, as she said, “I would sooner be burned to death with the shop.”

He couldn’t let it go, not quite that easy.

“You seem to despise us,” He said, “And yet, from what I hear, you entertained my brother during the war. You claim to want to distance yourself from us, and yet you helped Arthur, and then Polly. How can you say you hate us and then help us?”

She clasped her hands in front of her face and regarded him with a strange expression he couldn’t quite place. Her eyebrows drew together and her head tilted to the side as she asked, “How do you behave with people you dislike?”

“Not like that.”

“I didn’t ask if you responded similarly. I asked how you respond to them.”

Her words hovered in the air like bait and it seemed like she was expecting a particular response. He didn’t understand what response she wanted, her features, while revealing curiosity, revealed little else.

“Violently,” He said finally, leaning back into the chair he was sitting in as he let his hands fall into his lap as he explained, “You already know about the razors, you’ve taken one from Arthur. I respond to people I don’t like the same way they would respond to me. With threats, I suppose. But you see, I wonder based on your responses, if your threats are fake.”

She bit into the skin of her lower lip as she offered a humorless smile and nodded her head slowly. It seemed that she had expected this response from him. He wondered why she had expected honesty from a man she claimed to hate.

“That’s exactly it,” She said, leaning her head over her clasped hands as she added, “You respond violently because you dislike someone. Why not respond kindly?”

“I respond to them how they would respond to me.”

“They respond to you with violence because that is what you greet them with.” She protested, “I helped your family members because it was the right thing to do. Me not wanting your company, and my reservations towards your way of life will not turn me into somebody I’m not.”

“I don’t believe you.” He said, his head falling to the side as he watched her closely. She spoke of morality and the right thing to do. People always did until their lives were put at risk and they revealed they were just as terrible as everyone else. And she was just the same.

“Is there nobody you would…  _ greet violently _ ?” He asked.

It was a flicker of emotion, the slightest shift in her eyes before they hardened once more. But he had seen it all the same. It was there. In her head, there was someone she hated. Well, she hated him, he knew that already. He could tell from every glare and sharp word. 

She hated him so passionately, as though he’d personally slaughtered everyone she’d ever cared for. She hated him, but her anger, this unadulterated rage that lurked behind her carefully constructed mask was not his alone. Somewhere, in the depths of her mind, he existed with someone else. The true enemy, the one he reminded her of. And she hated this individual in a way so plain, that they could never redeem themselves.

“I don’t sew razors in my caps,” She said finally, “And I cannot reason with you, the same way you cannot reason with me. Neither of us will relent. There is no friendship or mutual gain to be found in our interactions.”

“Begrudging companionship?” He offered, his lips twitching slightly at the dangerous narrowing of her eyes.

“I’ve already got one of those. I don’t need anymore,” She responded blandly, her nose crinkling in disgust.

He wondered then how young she was. The confidence she possessed was something typically acquired over time, and she certainly behaved like an old lady with her books and her tea and her complete disregard for current fashion. But beneath the scars and the cold looks, there was a youthfulness to her appearance. 

“Polly thinks you’re a Chov’hani. Do you know what that means?” He asked,

He noticed that her features did not change when he said the word. It was as though she’d heard it before somewhere. Which certainly didn’t make sense considering the woman was no Gypsy.

Her features may not have changed but he noticed the way she angled her body towards him curiously as she hummed almost eagerly, “Enlighten me.”

“A Chov’hani is the Gypsy word for Witch.” Tommy said, “You know, curses, healing, magic.”

Her lips twitched upwards in a small smile and after a long moment, she said, “I am no Gypsy.”

Tommy nodded at her words, after all, he had thought the same thing only moments ago. No, this woman was no Gypsy. And yet Polly believed wholeheartedly that the woman was something different, and Polly was never wrong.

“You posh Londoners, you probably don’t believe in that. You’d call them charlatans,” Tommy began, watching closing for any slight shift in her features as he spoke, “You must think us to be very simple-minded for believing in things like this. Something more to add to your list of reasons you dislike us?”

There was a brightness to her gaze, and Tommy wondered if it was humor that he saw in her eyes. She leaned back into her chair and shook her head, “I’ll not dignify that with a response. In regards to your earlier request, I will tell you what I told your brother. I don’t make it a habit of being friends with rude people.”

She seemed to be done with the conversation. He did not believe he would be getting anything more from her, in fact, he hadn’t believed her to be willing to have as long a conversation as she had had with him. And so with a nod, he rose to his feet and made to get his coat.

“Mr.Shelby,” She called when he had reached the door. A small smile on her lips as she drawled, “Your belief in magic is not a reason I dislike you. Perhaps, I would go as far as to say that it might be the only belief we share.”

  
  
  



	4. A Little Bit of Kindness

Death attracted strange things. Dark creatures followed close on its heel, lured by true darkness. Death often left sadness, coldness, and pain in its wake, and dark creatures fed gluttonously on that vulnerability.

They were vermin, feeding off its leftovers while fearing the being itself. A wise decision, of course. After all, what was a lethifold or dementor to something older than time itself?

By association, Harry found herself a beacon to these creatures. 

Once inferi and dementors had starred in her nightmares. The kind that resulted in her being startled awake in a cold sweat and her magic destroying everything in its path.

Now she dreamt of nothing.

Whenever she did happen upon a dark creature who had dared venture too close and wreak havoc, she had dealt with it swiftly. And amongst her odd possessions were many dark creatures stored away where they could do no harm until she could find a place to relocate them to.

Where they had once been intimidating, they were no longer. In fact, a recent encounter with a boggart had proved how much she had changed over time. Her boggart which had once been a dementor no longer took that shape.

In the presence of a dementor, Harry had found herself staring at herself. A perfect replica down to the silvery scars and the typically downturned lips. It looked like her, it spoke like her and it behaved like her. Cold and alone.

Rolling the small container she had contained it in over the counter, she wondered when she had changed so drastically.

Once she had convinced herself that it had simply been her proximity to Death which had caused a shift in her demeanor. But she had not seen Death in a good while, he did not respond to her any longer and she could still feel his anger clutching at her chest.

No, Death was not to blame. It was her.

Placing the box behind the counter with the intention of finding a safe place for it later, she decided that she could do with a bit of fresh air.

Outside the quiet shop, the world was alive. People worked and spoke and lived. Children ran down the paved street laughing as they immersed themselves in fanciful games. 

As she walked aimlessly, she pondered on how time continued to move without her. She could not understand Tom Riddle’s obsession with immortality. Immortality was lonely, it was madness. It was not made for humans.

“Y-You can’t be here.” 

Turning her head slowly, Harry found herself looking at a bald man in a dark suit covered in dirt. Despite his height and size, he looked friendly enough, if a little uncertain of himself as he wrung his hands in front of him.

Glancing around her to understand where she had wandered to, she found that she was near the docks. Near Charlie Strong’s Yard, if she were to guess. A place that was certainly off-limits unless you wanted trouble with the Peaky Blinders. At least, that was what drunk bar patrons seemed to slur.

As Harry approached the man, she noticed him shuffling on his feet as though considering to step away. At this proximity, she decided that he smelled like a stable.

“Do you have a horse?” Harry asked, “May I meet it?”

She didn’t know much about horses. The only horse she had ever met had belonged to Death and had been far older than herself. But she could do with meeting a creature that didn’t feed off fear and pain.

“I don’t know, I’m not supposed to,” He said, “I mean, you ain’t supposed to be here neither.”

“Our secret then?” 

“I don’t know about that. Not supposed to have strangers round here.”

There was a gentleness to him as he spoke and suddenly some of the memories she had tried so hard to forget resurfaced and she was reminded of Hagrid. Hagrid who she would never again see. Hagrid who had never known what happened to her.

Holding out a hand towards the man, she smiled slightly and said, “My name is Harry. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He seemed surprised by her actions. For a moment he glanced at his own dirtied hands and then back at her as though he expected her to retract her hand. But when it remained outstretched, he smiled back and gave her hand a firm shake.

“I’m Curly.” He grinned and then with a quick glance around, he said, “You can meet him but only for a minute, yeah?”

“Of course, thank you.”

He quickly ushered her to the stables, making them duck for cover more than once when he thought someone might be walking by and Harry found it comical. 

Inside the stable was a beautiful house, a pale white thing that looked well taken care of. And from the way Curly seemed to care for it, it was evident why. 

It seemed that she had been correct in her assumption that he was a gentle thing. Perhaps that meant that not all the men in Small Heath were disappointing. Just most of them.

-x-

Finn stood across the street, facing Harry’s shop for a good while. Rocking on the balls of his feet he tried to muster up the courage to venture inside and face the woman. After all, he hadn’t taken the long route home from school just to run away, regardless of how intimidating Harry was. At least, that was what he had been telling himself for the past fifteen minutes.

With one final glance down the street, the boy straightened his shoulders and before he could talk himself out of it, he all but threw himself at the door.

Now, Finn had assumed that the weathered old door would have been able to bear his weight, but instead, the door swung wide open. He stumbled to the floor with a loud hiss, his hands only just saving him from a face full of splinters and a mouthful of dust.

Hastily pulling himself off the floor, he brushed the dust off his knees. He could feel the heat in his cheeks betraying his embarrassment as he lifted his head to look at the woman leaning against the counter.

Harry, with her nose still stuck in a book, did not look up. Instead, as she flipped the page, she said, “I wondered if you had planned on spending the rest of your night standing across the street.”

Hands curled into fists, and a small frown on his face, the boy shook his head and said what he had come all this way to say.

“I can read.”

“Can you really?”

Shuffling over to the counter, he reached out to grip the side of the book before her. With a quick glance at her almost amused expression, he slowly pulled the book towards himself. Turning it around on the counter, he stood on the tip of his toes to be able to better read the book.

His excitement was quick to wither away as his eyes dragged over the lines of text. He recognized the letters, knew how to write them too. But he had never seen those letters in any such combinations. He could read it, probably but he definitely didn’t understand a single thing.

Raising his head, he saw her lips tilted upwards at the corners and while she wasn’t outright grinning, he was sure that she found the situation hilarious. In return to her expression he scowled. Or tried to. Arthur had always told him that his scowl looked more like a pout.

“Shall I fetch you a book in a language you might understand, Mr.Shelby?” She offered.

At his firm nod, she pushed away from the counter and made her way towards the stairs at the far end of the room. They were rickety and looked like they couldn’t hold his weight, let alone that of an adult. The first step groaned under her feet but she didn’t look worried as she raised a finger and said in a low tone, “Do not touch a thing.”

“I won’t.” He said.

Not that he would want to. The entire shop was still messy, save for a small section by the window where a nice tea table was set. The window beside it was cracked open to air out the shop.

Slowly tiptoeing behind the counter, Finn noticed large boxes stacked atop one another, overflowing with big, thick books with patterns on the spines. They looked old but Finn noticed that none of Harry’s things seemed to be even slightly dusty, whereas the rest of the shop looked like a disaster.

Glancing under the counter, he found a stack of loose sheets with the same writing he had seen in the book. The only thing keeping the sheets in place were the two small black boxes weighing them down. 

With a quick glance at the staircase, Finn found no sign of movement and so he quickly lifted the box on top. Flipping the lid open, he found a few odd pieces of jewelry thrown inside. They looked like the kind of things rich ladies wore, all shiny and expensive. But Harry didn’t look like any rich lady Finn had ever seen. Harry always looked too scruffy, like she didn’t care what she looked like.

Closing the first box, he set it down and reached out for the second one, hoping to find out more about the strange woman. After all, he didn’t think his brothers would ever let him come back if they found out that he had gone to see Harry even after Polly had forbidden it.

Holding the box to his ear, he gave it a good shake but instead of jewelry clacking together, there was a strange echo.

It took a great deal of effort for him to pry the box open, and it was only as he had forced his fingernails between the lid that he noticed that the box seemed to have been sealed shut with some sort of wax.

And then all too suddenly, something dark lurched out from the gap that he had opened. 

It was big, larger than the box and it moved around like something living. It wiggled around the air, shifting and coiling in ribbons of darkness and Finn felt cold fear shooting through his veins as he crawled backward and away from the thing.

The creaking from the stairs did little to soothe his fear, but it seemed that the dark thing certainly didn’t want to meet Harry because it shot around the room in a panic and then slipped out through the window, leaving no evidence behind.

Glancing down at the box still clutched in his hand, Finn threw it back in its rightful place and ran to the other side of the counter just as Harry descended the stairs, a small book in her hands.

Oblivious to his panic, she glanced at the cover and said, “I do not have many books in English but hopefully this one will do just- are you ok?”

He considered lying to her. Then he decided that he didn’t think to lie to her would earn him any favors. So, he held his hands out in front of him and cried, “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”

Somewhere between his panicked words and tears, he registered the woman kneeling next to him. Her usually blank expression was replaced with a look of genuine concern.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Aunt Polly or Arthur. Please don’t curse me either. I’m sorry!”

“What happened, Finn?” She asked, her tone firm as she gripped his shoulders.

Sniffing, Finn wiped his tear-stained face and looked up at the woman. This was the first time that she had ever said his name. But he didn’t think it was any sort of victory. After all, he wasn’t behaving like a Shelby, he was behaving like a baby.

“The little box behind the counter,” He whispered, “I opened it.”

Understanding dawned on her features, her hands slipping from his shoulders as her expression closed off once more. And then she stood and ran a pale hand through his hair, smoothing down the mess.

“It was something bad, wasn’t it? That’s why you sealed it away?” 

“Not bad, but certainly not a pleasant thing.” She answered carefully, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was only saying that to stop him from bursting into another fit of tears. “I will find it and put it away somewhere more secure. Hardly anything to trouble yourself over.”

“How will you find it?” He demanded, “Small Heath is huge!”

“I caught it once before.”

Placing her book on the counter, Harry walked over to the coat rack and threw on her dark coat. As she fixed the collar, Finn could only marvel at how unbothered the woman seemed, like she was just running out to do a milk run instead of chasing down something foul.

“Shall we make a deal, Finn?” She hummed, her voice sounding near wicked as she continued, “You don’t tell anyone what happened today, and I won’t tell your Aunt that you came to see me?”

Finn bobbed his head immediately. 

She may have phrased it as a question but he knew real well that it was anything but. And with one last glance at the bland looking shop, he made to follow her out of the door and away from anything else strange.

As she locked the door behind her, Finn stood awkwardly to the side. His fingers tugging at a loose string by his sleeve as he asked, “You called me Finn. Does that mean we’re friends?”

“Sneaking through people’s things is rude.” She said simply shoving her key into the large side pocket of her coat. Then, fixing him with a sharp look, she admitted, “Though I suppose I’ve never been one for following the rules either.”

Sifting through her other pocket, she pulled out a small yellow hard candy and held it out towards him. And after he’d grabbed it from her, she waved him off and said firmly, “Straight home now, Finn.”

As Finn walked down the familiar street, he tried to think of anything other than the strange dark thing and the way its presence had made him more frightened than he’d ever been in his life. It was something impossible. 

And maybe the residents of Small Heath were right. Maybe Harry was the bloody Devil. After all, wasn’t she punishing wicked things?

Idly fiddling with the wrapper, he popped the candy into his mouth and immediately scrunched his face at the sharp lemony taste. Before he could decide to spit it out however, he could feel all the pent up fear and worry lifting off his shoulders. 

And by the time he made it home, he felt unbelievably lighter.

-x-

John twirled the glass in his hand slowly as he watched his brother from across the table, the amber liquid inside all but forgotten. His expression was dark, and he wondered if it had always been so loud in Small Heath. He had not slept properly in so long that he had forgotten how it felt to be well-rested. And with the disappearance of sleep, his mood had quickly soured.

He had hoped that coming to the Garrison during the afternoon would allow him some peace, quiet, and copious amounts of alcohol. He hadn’t expected to find Tommy already there, conversing with the new blonde barmaid. And John was quick to realize that even her pretty face could not dull how grating her voice sounded to his ears.

His fingers loosened from around the glass, allowing it to slam down against the bar, the liquid sloshing around, dangerously close to spilling on the freshly cleaned wood. The sound of it caused the woman to jump slightly and her gaze turned away from Tommy for the first time and darted towards him.

Glowering, he pulled a smoke from his pocket and raised it to his lips. His eyes moved from the blonde to his brother and he asked, “What?”

Tommy didn’t say anything though, only watched him like he was waiting for John to explode. It seemed that everyone in his family seemed to think that John was some kind of fucking time bomb, dangerous to poke, and dangerous to be around. Hell, Polly had offered to watch his kids nearly every day like he was bloody incapable.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” John said pointing his cigarette at his brother with a glare before he sneered at the woman watching him carefully and demanded, “What are you staring at?”

The barmaid was smart, quick to duck her head away without responding. A good thing too because John didn’t want to listen to anyone speak ever again. Throwing back what was left of his whiskey, he pushed away from the bar and towards the door.

He could feel his anger clawing its way up to his throat. He didn’t think he could be around people a minute longer. Not unless he really wanted to hurt someone. His free hand curled into a fist in his pocket as he tried to calm himself down.

He just needed to sleep.

But nowhere was quiet. And if no external sounds were causing him to stay up, his thoughts were too loud. His thoughts and his memories were far worse than anything else.

The cool breeze stung against his burning skin as he walked down the street. Somewhere along the way, he had discarded the smoke.

Before his anger boiled over and he made a scene that would definitely end with everyone telling him he had lost his head, he ducked into the nearest alley. 

His fist slammed against the brick wall repeatedly, and he couldn’t register the stinging pain that accompanied the blood that coated his knuckles. In his haze, he registered nothing around him. At least, not until it called to him.

“John.”

He threw his head to the side to tell whoever had called to him to go fuck off but as his eyes fell over the form of the man, the anger seeped away from his body. It was quickly replaced by a cold feeling that clutched at his chest and made it hard to breathe.

John recognized the man immediately. Under the blood that coated his face, John could see the familiar green eyes and under the dirtied cap, he could see the familiar blond curls.

John didn’t remember his name but he remembered a night in the trenches while he spoke about the girl waiting for him back home. He looked exactly like John remembered him from his nightmares, down to the mangled leg that dragged behind him as he walked towards him.

Stumbling backward, John wondered when his nightmares had spilled into the real world. And he didn’t remember reaching for his gun or firing repeatedly, but he definitely saw the bullet wounds that appeared on the man’s chest as he shot round after round.

He wouldn’t die. He kept stumbling towards him and John wondered if the war had ended at all. Was this all some nightmare and he would awaken once more in the trenches with cold feet and an ache all over.

A strong hand curled over his shoulder and John flinched away from it until his eyes fell onto an equally startled Tommy. The concern on his face was evident as he spoke quickly to John, but John couldn’t hear the words that fell from his brother’s lips. All he could hear were the sound of guns and death that echoed in his head.

And then suddenly, the soldier’s attention snapped to Tommy. Before them, the soldier’s form seemed to lose its solidity and in a wisp of black smoke, it started to shift. For a moment John saw their mother’s favorite green dress stained bloody, and then he saw Greta Jurossi’s unblinking eyes. 

The thing seemed to be unable to decide what form to take as it focused on his brother. And then like smoke it slithered and coiled away with the wind.

When the impossible thing had finally vanished, a cold sort of dread settled in John's chest. Shoving his brother’s hand away from him, John stumbled back.

“John, I saw it too,” Tommy said, his tone uncertain as though he wasn’t sure what they had seen. “We need to-”

“No!” John cut him off, pushing past him as he shook his head. “I don’t know what that was but it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t business. There’s nothing we need to do. I need you to leave me alone. Just for now. Just leave me alone. Please.”

-x-

As Harry walked quickly down the cobbled street, she wondered if this was how she had made Professor McGonagall feel during her time at Hogwarts. Sick with worry and torn between wanting to throttle the child while simultaneously wanting to keep him safe.

The boy didn’t know what he’d unleashed but Harry certainly wasn’t going to explain the concept of Boggarts to an already frightened child.

Sighing, the woman tilted her head towards the sky to see the last light of day fading and with one quick glance at the quiet, empty street, she felt her magic wash over her. The black of her coat seemed to reach towards the street in smokey tendrils and then she was flying.

It was a nice trick, Harry had always believed. She had learned it through the memories of Severus Snape, who in turn had learned it from Tom Riddle. And while Harry hated Voldemort, she would admit that he had certainly been creative with his spellwork.

As she flew overhead, high enough that no Muggle would be startled near death by seeing a swirl of black flying through the sky, she was disappointed to find that she could not locate the Boggart.

It had been so simple to capture initially. Of course, it had then been close enough to feel Death’s power rolling off her in waves. She doubted that the thing ever intended to reveal itself to her again. Fear of Death was a common thing.

She did, however, find two Shelby brothers looking panicked in an alleyway. And she cursed her luck. She didn’t have any luck, it seemed.

From the shadows, Harry watched as John Shelby rejected his brother’s aid. He looked like a right mess, worse than when he had returned from the war. His skin was paler, dark bags under his eyes, and a look in his eyes that could only be described as madness. And unfortunately, Harry believed that she was in part to blame for how bad it had gotten.

Muggles did not react well to seeing their fears personified.

She made to follow John, only to still when a troubled looking Thomas Shelby was greeted by an equally troubled man. A familiar man. 

Curly stood by Thomas, clutching at his coat as he tried to get the man to understand that something was terribly wrong. He mumbled something about a horse and a Gypsy curse and just as he had Thomas’ attention, he had also ensnared her own.

As the two men rushed towards the stables, Harry followed close behind.

Hidden in the shadows of the barn, she watched the men arguing. Sprouting on about curses and Lees and it seemed that no one was too pleased with Thomas Shelby when he had sent them out of the barn. It seemed that she was not the only person to be put off by his personality.

She watched him from the shadows as he brushed his fingers through the horse’s mane with a surprising amount of tenderness. It made her feel uncomfortable, as though she had just seen something personal, something she shouldn’t have.

And then he took a step back and raised the gun he had clutched in his hand. All previous gentleness stripped from his face leaving no evidence of its existence behind. Only a cold and hard mask remained.

She could have let him shoot the horse and apparate away but she had never been able to walk away from Death. Besides, she supposed that while she disliked him, he could certainly do with some kindness after facing a Boggart. Something she felt partially to blame for.

Taking a small step to the side, leaving the shadows, she called to him, “Shooting a horse, you truly must be mad.”

He didn’t seem to react to her sudden appearance, not even the slightest stiffening of his shoulders. He didn’t even turn to look at her as his gun remained pointed. He gave no indication that he had heard her at all.

“A white horse,” Harry drawled, “In stories, only knights and princes have white horses. I would have imagined you to have a red horse.”

Still, he didn’t turn to look at her. But after a moment of silence, she heard him ask, “Not black?”

“No.”

Walking forwards, Harry attempted to get a better look at the horse. She didn’t know much about them, but this one had certainly been fine the last time she had seen it. 

There was only one she was familiar with and its rider was Death. It certainly didn’t get sick, let alone cursed. And that horse was certainly a more faithful companion to Death than she would ever be.

One of the horse’s legs was tied back. Infected, Curly had said. A curse, he had insisted. Initially, Harry had dismissed it as superstition, but at this proximity, she could feel the magic. It was weak in power but it seemed to be doing the job just fine. And Harry realized that perhaps there was more to this Gypsy magic business than she had originally assumed. It also seemed that Thomas Shelby had a way with angering people.

Shifting around Thomas, Harry ran her fingers through the horse’s mane, unsurprised at the softness. Curly treated it well.

“What’s its name?” Harry asked.

Gun still aimed at its head, Thomas responded blandly, “It hasn’t got one.”

“You should give it a name, Mr.Shelby.” 

“Before I shoot it? That’s mad.”

“It’s respectful.” She corrected, her magic unweaving the curse that clung to the beast. Disassembling it was no small feat, while weak, it was intricate and crafted with a desire for revenge. Foul in its very essence.

While Harry only really liked Death’s companion, there was something intimate in healing the horse. She didn’t know much about horses, but she was really beginning to like this one. And so, she insisted, “It deserves a name.”

“And it doesn’t deserve a bullet in its head but the world isn’t fair.” 

With a small tilt of her head as an acknowledgment, Harry grabbed the rope tied around its leg. Untying the double knot, she tugged the rope, letting it fall to the ground. Her fingers lightly brushing over the leg, she helped ease it down onto the ground.

It seemed uncomfortable for a moment as it placed some weight on its leg. And then, as it seemed to realize that no pain accompanied the weight, it let out a pleased sound.

“The world may not be fair, but sometimes it can afford to be kind,” Harry said, meeting the gaze of the man staring at her curiously. A mixture of disbelief and interest swirled behind tired blue eyes as he lowered the gun.

Rising to her feet and wiping the dirt from her knees, she said, “Name the horse, Mr.Shelby.”

-x-

John Shelby had stumbled into his home drunk and reeking of alcohol and sweat. Swaying on his feet, he tumbled down the stairs twice in his efforts to make it up to his room. After the third failed attempt, he had given up and decided to try his luck with the couch.

This was the third day that Polly had taken his kids, spouting shit about how he had to fix his behavior. And where John hated how loud everything was, he didn’t want to be left alone in the quiet either.

As he fell back on the couch, his blurred gaze settled on a small box sitting in the center of his table.

Grabbing the small box, he found a small vial of a strange purple liquid and a folded up note. 

Setting the small vial down, he unfolded the note. A small laugh made it past his lips as he noticed how messy the writing was. Hell, even his kids wrote better than this shit.

_ It tastes terrible but will allow you to sleep well. _

He was mad, he had to be to consider drinking some random thing someone had left for him. Could have been poison. Could have been anything. But John was desperate and without much consideration, he had downed the vial.

  
  



	5. Unnatural and Impossible

Paying no mind to the fact that it had closed over an hour ago, Tommy pushed through the front door of the Garrison and away from the onslaught of rain.

He might have used more force than necessary because upon his entry, the barmaid flinched. Her pale hand was quick to wrap around the neck of the nearest bottle, prepared to use it as a weapon to defend herself if need be. Then, when she realized who had entered, her fingers slowly unwrapped from around the bottle.

“We’re closed,” Grace said, her eyes falling to the puddle he had made on the freshly cleaned floor.

There was amusement to be found there. 

Grace had a backbone, but she was smart enough to be wary of him. Her challenges were lacking in something. She did not challenge him lightly, but she did not challenge him to win. She challenged him to be interesting. To garner his attention for some purpose or another. He had yet to discover why, but he was certainly invested in understanding her role in everything.

Scoffing slightly, he shook his head causing more water to drip down onto the floor beneath him as he walked towards a table.

“Not for me,” He said blandly.

He watched as she stared at him for a moment and then reached for a bottle of Irish Whiskey that she knew he liked. She poured a bit into a sparkling clean glass and then paused. Her pale blue eyes narrowed slightly as they roamed his face and then she tilted the bottle, filling the glass up to the rim.

“Hard night?” She asked as she walked around the bar and held the glass out towards him.

As he accepted the glass from her outstretched hand, he found his eyes trailing over the woman. 

She was clearly educated, refined. Her clothing was always modest, and her smiles always pleasant. She had self-respect, and he couldn’t understand for the life in him why that was. Who had self-respect in a place like Small Heath?

She wasn’t quite posh, but she was certainly not some low-class whore. She came from a respectable family, he assumed. And yet, here she was, working at a place like the Garrison late at night.

A woman like her didn’t belong here, but she was here for a reason. Either she was running away from something, or towards something but regardless there was a selfish nature behind the pretty face.

That was human. 

That was normal.

And Tommy really needed something fucking normal tonight. After all, he had seen his fears embodied by an impossible thing. He had seen blackness fly through the sky. He had seen a woman cure a cursed horse as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

Tommy was a Gypsy. Tommy believed in magic and curses. But today hadn’t been a simple curse, it had been something else. And he had more questions than answers.

“Hard life,” Tommy answered after a minute, glancing down at the glass in his hand.

Tipping the glass back, he took large mouthfuls of the burning liquid. If he could not have normality, at least he had alcohol to numb his mind. At least alcohol hadn’t changed.

As he reached in his pocket to pull out a pack of smokes, he noticed the shocked expression on Grace’s face as she watched him from behind the bar. She was quick to divert her gaze when he met it, instead opting to wipe down the bar.

“So,” She said after a while of heavy silence, “Did you name your beautiful horse?”

He wanted to throttle her because as soon as she had asked the question, he could once more feel the weight of the gun in his pocket. He was once again reminded of the day he had just had.

He did not understand this obsession that women seemed to have about the bloody thing having a fucking name.

“Why does it matter?” He asked.

She didn’t seem to enjoy the sharpness of his tone if the downward tilt of her lips was any indication as she replied, “It deserves a name.”

_ Name the horse, Mr.Shelby _ , A posh voice echoed in his head. A posh voice belonging to a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. 

She had been civil enough and had more than once helped them. The fortune-teller had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, his business, or his family. She didn’t seem to want anything. And that was unnatural because Tommy Shelby believed wholeheartedly that everyone had a price.

Even Grace had a price. As of now, it was two pounds to accompany him to the races. Of course, Grace didn’t know the true reason he had invited her to the races, and he was certain her price would change accordingly.

Even though he was in the process of dealing with bigger fish like Billy Kimber and Inspector Campbell, and even though she had shown no interest in entertaining him, Tommy needed to know her price. If only to know that she too was selfish like everyone else in the world.

He couldn’t accept her actions as simple kindness.

Tommy Shelby did not know how to respond to kindness.

Running a hand over his face, Tommy rose from the chair and shook out some of the water drenching his coat. Grabbing the glass and emptying its contents, he decided that maybe he didn’t want company tonight after all.

“Curse Breaker,” Tommy said as he placed the empty glass in front of her.

Grace rose her head to look at him curiously, “What?”

“The horse,” Tommy said, “Its name is Curse Breaker.”

A small smile danced over her face as she nodded her head slowly, “It’s a nice name.”

“No, it’s bloody stupid,” Tommy corrected, his fingers shifting around him pocket for a moment before he placed a few coins in front of her. “Bloody stupid, just like tonight.”

-x-

Rumors had started to spread around Small Heath of a Devil lurking around the alleys and some insisted that the town was cursed. Dead soldiers crawling down the street, monsters from nightmares, things that should not exist had come to Small Heath.

They did not know that their collective horror had one culprit. A culprit that had managed to evade a now frazzled Mistress of Death. Such a simple creature evading someone like her was laughable, and yet it managed it all the same. After all, this was not some deserted town like where she had originally caught the thing. Small Heath was overflowing with Muggles and she could not seek the creature out so freely.

And her poor mood had begun to affect the world around her. The plants by her shop front had to be replaced numerous times as they continued to die in her presence and more than once she had caused things around town to combust from a simple glare. 

And after another unsuccessful search, Harry had found herself walking back to her shop, her fingers searching through her pockets for her keys. She was just pulling her keys out of her pocket as she neared the door to the shop when she noticed that there was a package at her doorstep.

Kneeling to pick up the package, she brought it into the shop and set it down on the counter as she put her keys down and turned the light by the table on.

As a pale yellow light illuminated the area around the desk, Harry turned her attention to the package. She tore through the paper and found herself surprised by the contents that stared back.

The package contained a wooden brush, not unlike the ones she had seen Curly use in the stables. However, this one was in far better condition than the ones he had used. It was new, nice and it didn’t smell strongly of a barn.

On top of the brush sat the only indication of the identity of the sender. Slim, sleek, and shiny, the razor blade sparkled as the light hit it just right. It was placed in the center of the brush, it could not be missed.

He may not have used ink, but Thomas Shelby had certainly signed the gift effectively.

Picking up the razor, she inspected it much like she had done previously with the one she had stripped from Arthur Shelby’s cap. Unlike the one she had taken from Arthur, she did not dispose of this one. Instead, she slammed the blade down onto the edge of the nice wooden counter. The sharp blade dug into the wood beneath it, stuck firmly in place.

-x-

Finn had been afraid. The night he came home from Harry’s shop after releasing the monster, he had not slept. Instead, while in bed, his thoughts wandered to the shadows in his room and what could be hiding in them watching him.

The next day he had avoided the alleys on his walk to school and had been angry and irritable for the day. Or at least for the first half. Because after a few hours of growing anxious over all the monsters that could be out in the world, he had realized that monsters were not all there could be. And then his mind had wandered to all the fairytales that he had heard in his lifetime. Since then, he had found himself in the company of the odd woman more than once after school.

At first, Harry had been resistant to his decision to spend his time sitting around her shop, both pestering her with questions while also scaring away anybody who ventured inside. But Harry had quickly realized that nothing could shut Finn up, and also that he was not even slightly bothered by her ignoring him or providing only short and sharp answers.

After that, she had begrudgingly accepted that he would be around. Or at least, that was what Harry had said. Finn thought that the day she had given up trying to get rid of him had been the day that he’d bought some treacle tart for her on his way over because he’d stopped to pick up some cookies that Ada had told him not to turn up home without.

She had said that it had been unnecessary but he had reminded her that she’d once said that she wasn’t friends with rude people and that refusing it would have been rude. She’d relented but Finn thought that she seemed to inhale it very fast for someone who didn’t want it in the first place.

That was also the day that she had lent him one of her books. One of the ones in English, of course, a book of stories she had said. It was called The Tales of Beedle the Bard and the book was worn from use.

Any time he visited after that, Harry had completely accepted his constant presence. And although she never outwardly admitted to enjoying his company, she always had freshly brewed tea and biscuits on the table when he came by.

Aunt Polly had easily accepted his lie that he spent time after school seeing a tutor. It was something she would have never believed last year. But ever since he had taken more interest in school after his brothers had gone off to war, he got to use that excuse a lot. 

It was a good thing too because all of his siblings at one point had used different excuses during their school years for the skipping and the long hours spent unaccounted for. By the time Finn got around the age where he had to go to school, his siblings had already exhausted all the other excuses under the sun. Luckily enough, none of them, not even Ada, had been particularly interested in going to school in the first place - although Ada’s case had less to do with a dislike for lessons and more to do with the girls in her year.

Finn reckoned that Aunt Polly would find out soon enough, she was too smart to trick. He knew that he’d get a whole slew of punishments for disobeying her and then lying. Her screaming might even cause his ears to bleed. But he considered it a small price to pay for knowing things that his family did not.

Not a lot of time maybe, but Finn had definitely assumed that he would have had more time before he got caught. And he would have had more time, were it not for Ada.

“Finn,” Ada had said, leaning against the doorframe of the shop, entirely unaware of the look of pure horror on his face as he looked at her. “I’ve been calling you the entire length of the street, what have you got in those ears?”

Pulling herself up when she could finally breathe, her arm curled around her pregnant belly as she aimed an exasperated look at her brother. Running her hands through her hair, she added, “Do they even work? You should get them looked-”

“Why are you here?!” Finn exclaimed, glancing back at Harry who was still leaning against the counter with a teacup in hand looking entirely too bored.

“I haven’t seen you much recently. I saw you walking home and thought I could walk with you,” Ada said, arms folded in front of her chest as she looked at him with a serious expression as she finally noticed his panic. She knew he was up to something, even if she didn’t know what. She had once told Finn that all the Shelby men had the same expression on their faces when they got caught doing something wrong. “Where is here?”

Instead of waiting for a response, she took a step outside the shop and glanced at the sign in the window. She stared at it for a moment and Finn thought maybe he’d gotten lucky, after all, Ada was barely home nowadays. It was possible that she didn’t know of Aunt Polly’s rule about Harry.

But then understanding dawned on her face and she said, “Pol’s gonna kill you. She’s probably gonna mount your head as a warning for other little boys.”

“Please don’t tell! Aunt Polly said no bothering her. I’m not bothering her, I swear.” Finn begged, looking back at Harry for support as he added, “Come on, Harry. Tell her I ain’t bothering you.”

Harry rolled her shoulders back and sighed. Setting down her teacup, she raised her head and hummed, “His presence is preferred to that of your siblings.”

It was high praise, Finn thought. He just didn’t think that Ada would see it as such. And he found himself surprised when a pleased smile brightened his sister’s face.

“At least someone has the sense to see how annoying they are.”

Harry seemed amused at the statement, and her lips tilted slightly upward as she nodded. Her hand moved from her teacup to trace over the thin razor plunged into the corner of her counter as she said, “I’ve had the misfortune of meeting all of them.”

Ada seemed to consider her words for a moment, her eyes calculating as she studied the woman in front of her.

Finn reckoned that she had only heard tidbits from her brother’s conversations and Aunt Polly’s warnings. All she knew was that this was the woman that Polly had deemed too dangerous to interact with. This was the woman who had refused to pay her brothers or listen to the stuff they spewed. And this was the woman who no Shelby was supposed to be bothering.

Strange or otherwise, Ada seemed to have decided that any woman who did not fall head over heels for her brothers was certainly worth getting to know. And she brushed by Finn and took a few steps towards Harry and held out her hand.

“I’m Ada,” She said.

Finn was worried that Harry would not shake her hand. But to his immense relief, Harry didn’t hesitate to grab her hand and give it a firm shake, “Pleasure to meet you.”

-x-

_ Chester Campbell was clinging to what little sanity he had left. _

_ He hated Small Heath. It was drab, depressing and the streets were riddled with filth. He hated the fact that Tommy Shelby ruled the place. Tommy Shelby with his fucking God complex and the ever-present condescending tone of his voice. _

_ But what Chester Campbell hated more than criminals was not knowing all the players in the game. _

_ He had extensive files on the Shelby brothers. He had reports on anything and anyone who could have been a potential threat. Or, so he had believed. Because even with his connections and resources, nobody could tell him anything about the woman who seemed to know of his spy in a matter of days. _

_ There were no documents of her existence, not a fucking birth record. No documents that proved that she owned the shop she had. No source of intel could provide anything. _

_ And the residents of Small Heath further proved that they were useless when all they could provide in reference to the woman was the belief that she was the Devil. They could tell you that she preferred dark colors, was rarely seen without a book in hand, and the fact that the few times that anybody had heard her speak, she spoke politely enough. _

_ He didn’t have a fucking name but apparently, that seemed like a trivial thing to know because it seemed that no one had ever asked for her name. _

_ And then it seemed that his luck was beginning to change when he received a letter from an unknown source that claimed to have the information that he was looking for. In the letter was also a location and a time written in smooth black ink. _

_ That was how he had found himself half-hidden in an alley at 2am. With one hand in his pocket clutching his revolver in case somebody tried something, his eyes focused on a man who seemed to be approaching. _

_ Dressed in a well-tailored black suit, and nothing else, he seemed to be unaffected by the cold night air. He was an older man, and in his presence, Chester felt his hold on his gun loosen. The man looked like the wind would blow him over. _

_ “Inspector Campbell, I presume.” He greeted, his expression impassive, and at this proximity, he noticed that the man’s eyes were a foggy blue that was typical of people suffering from blindness, but this man could obviously see. _

_ Deciding to forgo any niceties, he cleared his throat and said, “You said you know her?” _

_ “I know a great many things.” He responded vaguely. _

_ He waited for the man to continue, but he didn’t. Instead, he only stared at him with a look of patience. And Chester could feel his anger rising. He had spent all this fucking time trying to figure out who the bitch was, he didn’t have any more patience. _

_ “For example, I know that you do not care for the casualties, so long as you achieve your goals. You do not care for justice, nor innocence, you, like many mortals want power. I am also aware that power is not the only thing you desire.” _

_ He’d heard enough. Enough to know that this man was as much of a freak as the woman who’d cornered him in the church and he didn’t want to listen to the shit he was going to spew. _

_ “Now listen here, you fucking piece of-” _

_ His anger fueled tirade was silenced by something sharp digging into his shoulder. And a quick downward glance made his blood run cold in his veins. _

_ From the shadows of the alley, a large and bloodied hand was curled around his shoulder, the sharp and jagged nails digging into his jacket. But the bloodied hand was not the cause of his fear, instead, it was the familiar ring that sat on a finger. _

_ It was a delicate gold band with a large sapphire in the center. It was a ring he was familiar with, after all, he had seen it on his mother’s finger every day in his youth. He had seen it on her finger as she cooked. He had seen it on her finger as she cleaned. He had seen it on her finger when she threw things. He had seen it on her finger when he had buried her in the ground years ago. _

_ “I know that you have little respect for women. I know that the reason behind it stems from the relationship you had with your mother.” _

_ He could barely hear the man’s steady voice as his eyes followed the length of the bruised and bloodied arm. His gaze swept over the pale blue dress that she had been buried in and settled on its face. Youthful, a tragedy, an untimely death. _

_ Her beautiful eyes dragged over his face and then suddenly rage colored her face. It was the look he remembered most when he thought of her. Angry. Violent.  _

_ And then, the hand yanked him back into the shadows, dragging him into the alley. It was inhumanly strong as he thrashed around, trying to grip onto anything, screaming for help or mercy or anything. _

_ It was too strong for him. It had been too sudden a thing. He wondered if this was how her last moments had been. Had she experienced the same sharp fear shoot to his head making his mind fuzzy? Had her throat burned from screaming for so long? _

_ “Enough,” The strong voice pierced through the insanity. _

_ And just like that, his mother’s grip on him seemed to vanish entirely. Even without the weight pinning him to the ground, Chester Campbell remained flat on the ground, not quite understanding as the man spoke to the shadows. _

_ “You did as instructed. Now, I tire of your presence.” _

_ And then the man was standing over him with those strange eyes and the same expressionless features. Then, he spoke again. _

_ “I also know that should you pursue your search for information on her, you will not enjoy what you find. I know that should you continue, our paths will most certainly cross again. I know that our encounters will grow more unpleasant each time. So you see, I know a great many things.” _

Chester Campbell woke in his bed, drenched in sweat. Still trembling, his fingers ran over his body but he found no wounds, no scratches, and no proof that he had just been harmed in any way. And he let out a sigh of relief as he fell back onto the mattress.

It was only as he was falling asleep that he smelled a familiar scent. Lavender and honey, like the perfume that had been his mother’s favorite. 

-x-

Adjusting the sleeve of her shirt, Harry wove her way through the crowd of people unnoticed. They parted unknowingly for her, too lost in their conversations and antics to notice her. The men and women seemed to share slight similarities with the Shelby family, they were barely noticeable but Harry wondered what their relationship was with the Shelbys. She had not been able to gain much information from Curly’s fearful cries of the horse having been cursed by the Lees. Not much beyond the name.

But she was able to find them easily enough. Now she just needed to understand their magic, or at the least find the caster. But none of the men and women in her proximity seemed to be able to detect her magic, and she could detect none in turn.

Then, her eyes settled on a pair of brown eyes that seemed to watch her with more than a healthy amount of suspicion. They belonged to a woman with wild dark hair and a flush on her face that Harry was willing to bet had something to do with the bottle clutched in her hand.

Her dark eyes followed Harry as she walked up to her, her easy posture not changing even as she noticed that her family and friends had failed to notice an intruder.

“Where would I find the head of your family?” Harry asked as she came to a halt next to the woman.

The woman seemed to consider her question for a moment before a humorless smile tugged at her lips and she shrugged, “Probably deciding how next to ruin my life.”

“Is there a specific location for that?”

At her unamused tone, the woman seemed to find some manner of humor because she threw her head back and laughed. Then, she took a large swig from the bottle in her hand.

Wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve, the woman shook her head.

“If I paid ya, would you curse someone for me?” She asked.

Sliding down onto the bench next to the woman, Harry was certain this conversation would not be as short as she would have preferred. She too fixed her gaze forward, to the group of people enjoying the night, unlike her current companion.

“What gives you the impression that I would be able to curse someone?”

The woman laughed from beside her and turned her head to look at Harry carefully. Her eyes dragged over her face and with the drunk smile still on her lips, she laughed, “You’re not serious?”

“Entirely serious, I’m afraid.”

Taking another swig from the bottle, she looked endlessly amused as she declared, “Say what you want, you’re a Chov’hani if I’ve ever seen one.”

“I’m not a Gypsy.”

“Still got magic though.” The woman said, motioning to the crowd of people as she added, “They didn’t fucking see you and those bastards don’t miss a thing. Bet if they saw you they’d piss themselves. They didn’t see ya, but I do.”

That was true, this woman definitely saw her when her companions did not. But she possessed no magic. And then Harry’s eyes settled on the small token woven through her braid. It was a simple thing, lost in the numerous tokens that she had braided through her hair but this one in particular stuck out to Harry because it seemed to thrum with magic.

“Would I be correct in assuming you have a Chov’hani in the family?” Harry asked.

The woman smirked knowingly at Harry when she did not deny possessing magic. 

Throwing an arm over her shoulder, the woman pointed to a pretty looking woman with a serious expression on her face as she stood to the side with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“The head of the family is my lovely mother,” She said with a cold smile, “Don’t let her sour expression fool you, she’s worse than she looks.”

“Thank you,” Harry nodded, rising to her feet.

As Harry walked around the crowd of people, the woman called from behind her.

“Let me know about that curse.”

In closer proximity to the woman, Harry could feel the magic that clung to her. It was earthy and old and so unlike her own. It did not seem to belong to the woman, instead, it seemed to simply respond to her.

At her approach, the woman turned her sharp gaze to Harry and her eyes widened slightly as though she had just seen Death itself, but her expression had schooled itself by the time that Harry was standing by her side.

“My name is Harry,” She said, holding her hand out for the woman to take.

She seemed to consider it for a moment before she reached out to shake Harry’s hand as she responded, “My name is Zilpha Lee and I don’t recall someone like you being invited.”

Tilting her head to the side, Harry’s grip on the woman's hand tightened momentarily at the challenge in her tone.

“Someone like me?” 

Zilpha angled her head upwards and looked down at Harry with an unimpressed look as she explained, “I know your kind. You take and you take. There is no harmony, only greed for power, for more.”

Harry didn’t bother to argue with that. She knew that Wizards had a long history of throwing out power-hungry and homicidal maniacs regularly and she too despised the corrupted governments and obsession with blood purity.

But there was something under her statement. And with a quick sweep of her mind, Harry decided that the woman was certainly angry. Angry because the Wizarding World did have any respect for her magic, nor her people.

Zilpha continued her tirade, “All your kind want is violence. You hold grudges like children and fight over anything and everything.”

“A grudge like the one you have with the Shelby family?” Harry asked.

Zilpha sneered, and Harry could practically feel her rage. She did not seem to appreciate the comparison in the slightest. And with a scowl, she spat, “That’s not a grudge, it was a promise of death.”

Harry decided that she would never understand the obsession everyone had with death and murder. It was as though mortals seemed to forget that they only lived once. Lives weren’t a smart currency to gamble with. 

She could understand the belief that family meant everything. She could understand not willing to let an insult to your family stand. But she could not understand the need for the bloodshed.

So many innocent lives were lost to people who decided that they had the right to take lives as a method of revenge. Short lives and heavy caskets.

“You fools have no right to make promises of Death.” Harry said finally, “You know nothing of Death.”

Harry was surprised when the woman did not respond angrily. From what she had seen, Zilpha Lee was strongly influenced by her emotions and her love for her family. She was not the kind of woman to let any manner of challenge slide.

Instead, the woman only asked, “Does this mean that the Shelby boys have a Witch on their side?”

“No,” Harry responded immediately.

No, Harry was most certainly not here to defend Thomas Shelby. She had come to sate her own curiosity. She had come to understand a little of the magic that this woman possessed. She had not come for the bloody Peaky Blinders.

“I don’t care about the Shelbys,” Harry insisted, “But next time you want revenge, curse one of them and not the bloody horse.”

  
  



	6. Troublesome Company

Curly had never been the kind of man that people paid any mind to, especially in Small Heath. According to most men, he was too simple, not worth much. It was only his association with the Peaky Blinders that convinced people in Small Heath to keep their opinions to themselves.

He had hated it in his youth but over time he had learned that there was nothing he could do to impress anyone because they’d already decided that he wasn’t worth much. That was why he spent most of his time with horses, they were kinder than people were. Less prone to wicked tricks as well.

When he’d first started working for Charlie Strong, a few young men had tried to come to poke fun at him. Charlie had scared them away with his sour looking expression real quick, of course, he’d also had a couple nice guns to back him up.

Charlie didn’t have a great reputation neither, though he actively tried to frighten people away. Curly had always thought that while Charlie might not have been the gentlest of people, he was certainly honest. And that was better than most people in Small Heath.

To Curly, he’d been nothing but good. And Curly had learned not to expect much more than that from anybody else.

So, he didn’t know what to make of Harry with her real high brow interests and her fascination with the horses.

She’d come around more than a few times and while she’d told him nearly every time that she wanted nothing more than some good company, he didn’t understand why she wanted to spend time with him. He didn’t understand why she always brought him some carefully wrapped meals or wool blankets for when it got chilly in the evenings. She even brought him piping hot tea in a large thermos.

Curly didn’t have much to give her in return, not that she ever accepted nothing in the first place. She’d only give him a lopsided little smile and tell him that she wanted him to tell her about his job in the stables. And he did just that, he’d spent hours upon hours telling her about the horses and introducing her to them. When she’d first come around, a few of the horses had been real wary of her but since then they had long warmed up to the woman.

Curly didn’t want to expect anything from the woman, but he sure did enjoy her company.

“You should come down to my shop sometime,” She said one day as she packed up her belongings, “It’ll do you some good to step outside the stables.”

Her words caused him to pause what he had been doing. His brush hovering over the horse’s mane as he shrugged his shoulders and said, “They don’t like me much around town.”

“They don’t like me either,” Harry responded immediately.

At that, he threw her a look of disbelief as he asked, “Who wouldn’t like you? You’re real nice.”

“Me? No, I’m not nice at all. You’re nice, Curly,” Harry admitted, pushing her hair away from her face as she glanced outside the barn doors at the darkening sky. “Come visit me some time, and if someone has a problem with you, I’ll show them just how not nice I can be.”

He smiled at the woman and bobbed his head in agreement. He couldn’t really see Harry being mean to anyone, but he wasn’t gonna tell her that. No, Harry had only ever been polite in his presence.

“Hey Curly,” She called as she moved towards Tommy’s white horse.

She may have not said it out loud but Curly was positive that it was her favorite. She rarely ventured too close to it but he’d seen her glancing at it from the corner of her eye loads of times. He could understand why she liked it, it was a gorgeous horse. Lucky too, he supposed. After all, after learning about the curse, Tommy had told everyone that the horse would be fine. He’d said it with such conviction that no one had been surprised to find it healthy and walking around the very next morning.

“Does this one have a name yet?” She asked,

“Curse Breaker,” He said immediately with a smile, “Yeah, Tommy named it that. Doesn’t seem to like the name much, though.”

Amusement flickered over her face for a moment before she asked, “Has anybody told him that it’s a terrible name for a horse? It’s truly the worst.”

“Can’t say so,” Curly laughed as he started to clean up his own equipment. He made sure to hand the brushes on the back wall after cleaning them out as best as he could. And while he cleaned up the best he could, Harry waited patiently by Tommy’s horse, whispering soft words into its ear.

-x-

“Tommy’s being ridiculous with Freddie! Tell me, is it still murder if there’s no body?” Ada asked, stuffing another biscuit into her mouth.

Beside her, Finn pulled his plate of chocolate-covered biscuits closer to his chest and out of his pregnant sister’s reach.

“Yes,” Harry said at the same time that Finn shook his head and confidently declared, “No,”

Raising her head slowly, Harry glanced over at the young boy to find him smiling around a biscuit, a picture of innocence as he laughed at her expression. The chocolate smeared across his face helped sell the facade.

Ada seemed to notice the state of her brother at the same time that Harry did and she scrunched her nose and reached out to wipe at his cheeks with her thumb to clear the chocolate off his face despite his loud protests.

“I’m not a baby, Ada!” He protested.

“Course not,” Ada agreed, “Even babies manage to get more of the food inside their mouths.”

“Harry, kick her out of your shop! She’s being mean to me!” Finn cried, trying to swat his sister’s hand away as she violently rubbed the chocolate clinging to his face.

Not missing a beat, Harry responded, “How about I throw both of you out and cure the headache I’ve got?”

Her words lacked any real heat.

In all reality, she had gotten quite used to their presence. She hardly noticed their sibling squabbles, it was easy enough to tune out. To top it off, they had helped her organize her shop more than once. Ada had helped her get all her books organized on the new bookshelf that Finn had helped her set up. 

“Have you considered that maybe you have a headache because you don’t leave this stuffy place?” Ada asked,

“Where would you have me go?”

“Outside,” Finn suggested.

“There are people out there,” Harry responded in a tone that suggested that that was all the reason she needed to never venture outside the walls of her shop.

She didn’t care to mention that she left the shop plenty. She spent time with Curly in the stables and she spent nearly every night searching for the Boggart who had suddenly vanished. She also didn’t mention the fact that she had barely gotten any sleep in so long that she had all but forgotten what being well-rested felt like.

Before either sibling could choose to ridicule her statement, the door of her shop was slammed open. It bounced angrily off the wall as a group of sour-looking men entered the already cramped space.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, leaning against the counter in front of her. 

“Where would I find a man by the name of Shelby?” The man at the front with a receding hairline and a thin mustache over scowling lips demanded.

“What an odd name.” She hummed.

Her eyes darted to the siblings still at the table. Ada had gone still, her previous good mood long gone as she angled her body so that she sat in between a wide-eyed Finn and the strange men.

As one of the goons turned his attention to Finn, the boy was quick to duck behind the table. His eyes met Harry’s and he lurched from around the table, reaching for her.

It seemed to be the wrong decision because the man reached out to grasp Finn’s arm to stop him. 

Only, he was never able to grab the boy. Instead, his hand met an invisible barrier and an unseen weight pushed down on his wrist.

“What the fuck?!” He hissed before stumbling to his knees as the force against his wrist became nearly unbearable.

Behind him, his companions shuffled awkwardly, uncertain as to what they were witnessing. They seemed to be juggling between the idea of helping him or leaving him to make a fool of himself.

Harry didn’t care much, because it gave Finn enough time to scurry around the side of the table and stand behind Harry, clutching tightly at her shirt.

“Nobody by the name of Shelby enters my shop,” Harry said firmly, her eyes fixed on the man in charge as though she had not witnessed something particularly odd. She wondered what it was about the men of this era that made them so irritating.

Before the man could say anything, Ada said quickly, “The Garrison. They’ll be at the Garrison.”

The man glanced at Ada, a lecherous smirk on his face as he noticed her rounded belly and his eyes snapped to her hand to search for the presence of a ring. Harry didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. But a quick glance in his head confirmed her theory. Billy Kimber was a pig.

“Leave,” Harry ordered, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Course,” He said, hands in the air as he added, “How about you two keep some of my boys company while the rest of us go to the Garrison? After all, I heard that you keep the Shelby men company.”

Harry could practically feel Ada’s fury as the Shelby woman prepared to snap at the men. Harry wouldn’t put it past her if she decided to attack them. She might have let her do that if she weren’t so very pregnant.

And so, she interfered, “Gladly.”

Ada’s fury was halted momentarily for her to spin around and pin Harry with a look of disbelief but Harry only shook her head.

Kimber laughed at her quick response. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a few coins and threw them onto the counter that separated them and said with a mocking smile, “For your time.”

And then, flanked by four men, Kimber disappeared out the front door, leaving three of his men in her shop.

The men left behind glanced at one another, sharing lecherous smiles between them as though they’d won some sort of lottery. One of the men, with a mop of blond hair and a scar on his chin, reached out towards Ada. He certainly wasn’t prepared for the fork clutched in Ada’s hand to stab his arm with an ample amount of force.

He let out a hiss, swearing as he turned an angry shade of red and cried out, “Stupid bitch stabbed me!”

Before any of his friends could help him retaliate, Harry winked at Ada. And as the man lurched towards the young woman a second time, invisible ropes forced him away from her. 

The three men all struggled against the unseen ropes that curled around them, tightening painfully. It looked like something comedic as they struggled against air. It took only a second for the ropes to overpower them, and they plummeted to the ground.

Tapping her finger against the razor blade digging into her counter to gain their attention, she said lazily, “Gentlemen, do you know what this is?”

She offered an unnecessary moment of silence, knowing full well that they wouldn’t be able to respond. And then, she continued, “This is what I’ll hand over to her if you ever think of behaving in such a deplorable fashion. And as sharp as she is, I’d wager she’d castrate you. It would be messy, but it would certainly get the job done. Understand?”

Three frantic nods were all the response she got from the men.

“Good.” Harry said, “Now get out of my shop.”

With that, she released the spells on the men. It took them one moment to realize that they could once again control their limbs and it took two more for them to pull themselves off the floor to scurry away and out of the shop, spouting nonsense about the Devil’s work.

It was then that Harry realized that at some point she had started to run her fingers through Finn’s hair in an effort to soothe him. The look of awe on his face as he looked up at her made her think that there was no way she was getting rid of the boy now.

For Ada on the other hand, this was the first time that she was seeing Harry do something particularly odd and she had a pensive look on her face as she studied the Witch. Her face revealed nothing of her thoughts as she asked, “What if they tell someone?”

“Who would believe them?” 

“If someone does?” Ada pushed. “If people come for you?”

“Then I’ll teach them some manners.” Harry declared.

Ada seemed to consider her response for a moment. It was clear that she was trying to gauge how dangerous Harry’s company could be for her family. For a moment Harry wondered if Ada Shelby would be the sibling who was wise enough to distance herself from Harry.

Then, Ada said, “My fork was just as effective.”

-x-

Tommy Shelby’s conversation with Billy Kimber was going just as he had planned. Or at least, it was until three men stumbled through the door blubbering about monsters and invisible assailants. He was convinced they were crazy until they mentioned a bloody Devil woman.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you idiots?” Kimber spat at his men, his face turning bright red in rage. After all, they were doing a bang up job of making him look stupid.

“T-the fortune teller. S-she-” One attempted to explain in between heaving breaths.

Interference came from a person that Tommy would never have expected.

From beside him, John let out a laugh as he looked at the men. A false cheery grin on his face as he said “She give you something to drink? She’s got some good shit there.”

Tommy didn’t quite catch the vulgar words spat at the men by Kimber, but he assumed that they had something to do with how he would punish them for their drunken antics. He didn’t care to find out.

Instead, he gazed at John from the corner of his eye, noting the way his brother refused to look at him.

Was that it?

Was John’s complete shift in mood thanks to the help of their resident enigma? Has she given him something or provided him with some manner of support? Something about that thought didn’t sit well with him. Whether it was the fact that he felt that he owed her something in exchange or displeasure in the fact that her actions suggested that she preferred John over himself, he did not know.

No, he told himself, that was impossible. It was improbable. He was simply displeased that something happened in Small Heath without him knowing. Or more accurately, that there was so much happening in Small Heath without him knowing, all thanks to her.

“Where were we?” Kimber asked, turning back to them as though he hadn’t just lost his head.

Schooling his features, Tommy said, “As I was saying, you’re quite impressive, Mr.Kimber. You started from nothing and built a legitimate business. it would be an honor to work with you.”

“Nobody words with me.” Kimber corrected, “People work for me.”

And in an attempt to make that clear, he pulled a coin from his pocket and threw it on the floor beside Tommy’s feet. His eyes narrowed as he ordered, “Pick it up, Pikey.”

Tommy hesitated, perhaps a moment too long because John was on his feet ready to pick the coin up for him. The only thing that stopped him was the sharp look Tommy threw his way as he knelt down and picked the coin up.

As Kimber and his men turned to file out of the room, his accountant paused to mention, “We will be at Cheltenham.”

“As will I,” Tommy promised.

With a swift nod, the last of Kimber’s men disappeared out the door from which they had entered. And only seconds after the door closed behind them, Arthur grumbled from his seat, “Reckon the Chov’hani could’ve done us a favor and dealt with him too.”

“We have nothing to do with her,” Tommy said sharply, causing his brother’s lazy smile to slide from his face.

“I was just joking.”

“Don’t.” John said, inserting himself into the conversation as he shook his head with a serious expression on his face as he pointed out, “Pol’s told us to stay away from her.”

Before Arthur could say something in his defense, Tommy had already shifted his gaze towards his younger brother. And after downing the last of his Whiskey, he asked, “And have you? Stayed away from her, I mean.”

“Course I have,” John responded quickly, “Ain’t got nothing to do with her.”

“Good,” Tommy said after a long moment.

-x-

Smoothing down the fabric of her black dress, Harry glanced at the invitation in her hand and then at the man standing at the door to the hall. 

He was a gruff looking man with a pompous air to him. And he eyed her with more than a little suspicion as she held the invitation out for him to take. 

There was a time when such appraising looks would have caused her a great deal of embarrassment and resulted in awkward fumbling on her part. But of course, she wasn’t thirteen anymore and she didn’t really care if this man thought that she seemed like she didn’t fit in with such high-class people.

It’s not like she was here for any of them, anyways.

She had discovered the invitation waiting for her on her counter when she returned one night next to a copy of a page from the guest list. And were it not for a name that stuck out to her, she wouldn’t have come at all.

After more than a few moments, he handed the invitation back to her and stepped aside to allow her to pass.

Her eyes scanned over the occupants of the hall as they danced to loud music and drank copious amounts of alcohol. The women wore fine dresses and the men wore tailored suits and Harry supposed that they looked like something out of an old movie. Or perhaps more accurately, she felt as though she had been thrown into the middle of an old movie.

It was hard for her to focus on anything in the flurry of movement in front of her and she made her way to the balcony in an effort to gain a better vantage point.

Leaning over the balcony, she glanced down at the heads of dancers and the singers and the groups of men taking bets while their women exchanged gossip on the side, completely ignored by their counterparts.

“I’ve always believed green to suit you better, black washes you out.”

She didn’t have to turn around to know who had spoken. After all, she’d been listening to that monotone voice for years upon years. The deep tone regardless of whatever form he was in, the slight accent that you’d never be able to place and the cracked voice that suggested centuries of disuse.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Harry said, her features impassive as she stared straight ahead. 

“I have much to do outside of waiting on you to call,” He responded blandly, “I had assumed you were competent enough to survive without me. That is, of course, until you contemplated murder.”

“Such a strong word,” 

A flute of champagne obstructed her view and she was quick to swipe the glass from the outstretched hand and take a large mouthful of the bubbly liquid.

Glancing over at her companion she saw that he looked older than usual.

Typically in her company, Death came to her in the form of children with wide eyes and cherubic faces. They moved awkwardly and his voice did not suit them but they were children all the same. Because Death knew she had a soft spot for children.

But today, he looked like a middle-aged man, with sharp features and dark hair styled in a way that was era-appropriate. He fit into the crowd around him perfectly. The only thing that betrayed him was his glassy eyes that seemed to glance into the souls of whoever they focused on. They were unsettling and they were old.

Turning her attention away from his unblinking gaze, she glanced once more at the people dancing and she was surprised to find familiar faces in the crowd beneath them.

As though he had felt the weight of her gaze, his blue eyes swept the room and settled on her. 

Surprise flashed through his eyes as he realized who he was looking at and he seemed so distracted that his back collided with one of the other dancers, almost knocking the poor man off his feet.

“Funny little things, are they not?” Death asked from beside her, having seen him stumble.

Scoffing into her drink, she replied, “I find little humor in his fumblings.”

“Because mortals are beneath you?”

“Of course not! It’s simply because I have little patience for the fumblings of that man in particular.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, and Harry assumed that Death knew that. However, Death never did call her out on her lies, he found no need to because Harry knew that there was little that he did not know. Especially in regards to her.

Leaning over her shoulder, Death refilled her glass with the bubbly liquid. As he did so, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t you hate when they bring children to such events?”

Following his pointed look, she found herself looking at a face that had plagued her nightmares and thoughts for more time than she would care to admit.

He had high cheekbones, pale skin, and the dark eyes that he would pass onto his child. A near splitting image and he resembled her memory from the Chamber of Secrets quite perfectly. The only thing that broke her vision of Tom Riddle was the large boxy grin on the young man’s face. A look that Harry was certain that Tom Riddle would never have on his face.

It was too human.

Across the balcony, Tom Riddle Sr spoke animatedly to his father. No older than fourteen, Harry guessed and not at all aware of the monster he would sire.

Before she could make her way towards him, a strong hand curled around her waist, keeping her in place as Death said in a falsely pleasant tone, “Shall we dance?”

“I don’t want to dance,” Harry responded with a small glare as she allowed him to guide her towards the dance floor and away from the boy she had hoped to speak with.

Plucking the empty glass from her hand, he set it down on the nearest table. 

It was with great reluctance that she allowed him to guide her onto the floor. His hand gripping her waist tightly to keep her from fleeing as they moved.

Over his shoulders, her eyes connected with those of her least favorite Shelby brother and silently she implored that he help her this instant. Or at least, she tried to. Admittedly, it might have just looked like she was glaring at him as she usually did.

But it seemed that for once luck was on her side because Thomas Shelby’s eyebrows furrowed for a quick moment before he whispered something to the barmaid he had been dancing with and then the two of them made their way towards them.

“I would never have expected to run into you here.” Thomas said in greeting and then his eyes darted to his companion and he added, “I’m sure you know Grace?”

“We’ve met,” Harry responded, smiling slightly at the blonde who seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Harry. Judging from the small smirk dancing on Death’s lips, he seemed quite amused at her reaction.

Smiling weakly, Grace said, “I never did get your name?”

Before she could respond, Death’s cool voice said, “That is because she never offered it, Ms.Burgess. Did he not tell you that?”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly at his words. Death may have not cared much for mortals, but he had never before been so ready to interfere with their business. And Harry wondered how much Ms.Burgess and her Inspector had tried to dig into her past for Death to be so openly hostile.

The color seemed to drain from her face as she registered his words, her hand falling to her stomach as though to collect herself.

“Ms.Burgess seems to be in dire need of a seat,” Harry said quickly, glancing over at Death with a sharp look as she added, “Will you see that she finds one? And perhaps a drink and some  _ pleasant  _ company?”

“Of course, My Lady.” Death responded, and before the woman could protest, he was already guiding her away from the crowd of people. Harry only hoped that he didn’t frighten the woman to death.

Turning her attention to Thomas, who looked far too intrigued by what he had just witnessed, she reached out her hand and ordered, “Let’s dance, Mr.Shelby.”

-x-

Hair pinned back in a neat updo and a dress that wasn’t two sizes too large, she looked different. More put together, and yet her dark attire and ever-present frown did little to make her look any more approachable than usual. 

It didn’t do her any favors whenever she glanced over at her companion and Grace from the corner of her eye and her eyes narrowed dangerously. She seemed to think that the man would swallow Tommy's date whole. Tommy assumed the man would be on his best behavior, after all,  _ his lady _ had ordered it.

“You can dance well,” She said after a moment, surprise coloring her tone.

He offered her a humorless smile as he adjusted his grip on her waist and asked, “Impressed?”

He made to guide her back towards Kimber’s table, hoping to keep his eye on the man while he waited for Arthur. A few steps into the dance, she turned her attention away from the man waiting for her by the bar and fixed him with a sharp look.

“Impressed by your dancing? Hardly, Mr.Shelby. It’s too forceful.” She hummed, glancing once more at her patient companion before she set her chin on Tommy’s shoulder and whispered, “Shall I show you how it’s done?”

Her grip on his shoulder tightened slightly as she all but forced him to take a step back and Tommy would admit that something about the woman attempting to lead the dance seemed fitting of her character.

Deciding to humor her, he let her guide them around the floor. With her eyes fixed on something in the distance, she weaved them through the couples dancing on the floor with expert precision.

He noted that she did not lead them anywhere that would result in him losing his view of Billy Kimber, and from the way Kimber's eyes seemed to glance around the room, he assumed that the man could no longer find them in the sea of people. He would admit, she led well.

“I have to ask,” Tommy started, capturing her attention as he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Humor me, first. What are you doing here?” She drawled, “Such company suits me far more than it suits you, wouldn’t you say?”

There was a sharpness that accompanied her words and he understood where it came from. After all, he had made his opinion on her supposed posh upbringing quite clear. He supposed that in her eyes, him being here today made him a hypocrite. 

“I’m becoming a legitimate businessman.”

Her lips twitched slightly at his response as though she was fighting a smile and then she said, “If your legitimate business is built through illegitimate means, how lawful is that?”

His hand on her waist moved to the small of her back, drawing her closer to him so that he could lean his head down to answer, “I intend to leave the illegitimate business behind me.”

He didn’t miss the way her companion’s eyes narrowed as they followed Tommy’s hand, and he decided that the way the man looked at his current dance partner was terribly possessive.

“I don’t believe you.” She quipped immediately.

“That’s disappointing.” He said in a tone that made it quite evident that he didn’t care one way or the other, “Now, I believe you owe me an answer.”

“Or a lie?”

“Up to you, of course.”

Pushing away from him to look him in the eye, she fixed him with an unimpressed look. Her bright eyes narrowed as she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Fine. I’m here because I’m contemplating the murder of a guest.”

She said it so easily as though they were discussing the weather and Tommy wondered for a moment if he’d found himself in a parallel universe where she was the one with a questionable moral compass instead of himself. The thought in itself was frightening.

“Not mine, I hope?” He asked,

“I hardly believe you were invited, therefore, you are not a guest,” She said.

“Where did your morality disappear to? Tell me, am I rubbing off on you?”

“Was the razor blade you gifted me not an invitation to join your silly little band of criminals?”

He did smile at that, a barely noticeable lift of his lips as he admitted, “I didn’t think you were the kind to take orders.”

“I’m not,” She responded immediately, “But you could do well with letting me lead you, Mr.Shelby. Isn’t it more enjoyable?”

His gaze darted from hers for a moment, to glance both at Grace leaning against the bar with a smoke in her hand and then to Kimber who had gone back to ignoring his wife. Then, he turned his head back to the woman who was watching him with a knowing look and whispered, “Tell me it isn’t Kimber, I do need him alive.”

“I don’t want the pig. I’m here for bigger fish.” She responded easily.

With a quick glance behind her, she let her arm fall from his shoulder and said, “Thank you for providing me with a head start Mr.Shelby.”

And all too suddenly, in a flurry of black fabric, she disappeared between the crowd of people. Any question he had died on his tongue as he noticed Arthur’s head peeking in from the side door.

-x-

Sitting next to the blonde, Death could feel his face getting stiff from the fake smile that stretched over his lips as he tried to soothe the panicked mortal sitting next to him. He had not comforted a human in many years, the last one being his own Mistress, and he did not care half as much for the woman beside him.

Harry had told him once that humans enjoyed company. They enjoyed talking about their lives. This one was clearly broken because she only stared at him.

“Is this the part where you threaten me?”

Forcing his gaze away from his dark-haired mess of a Mistress, he glanced over at the woman from the corner of his eye. Her tone had been even, strong, but he could see the wariness in her eyes.

“I do not care about you in the slightest.” He responded bluntly, “I do not care about Thomas Shelby either.”

Her brows pulled together in confusion and she reached into her bag to pull out a packet of cigarettes, Bringing one up to her lips, she lit the smoke and took a long drag. He assumed it was to calm her nerves.

“Then what do you care about?” She asked, glancing once in the direction of her date who had very evidently lost interest in her for the moment.

He could tell that she expected a human response. She expected him to say he cared about Harry, or perhaps that he cared about justice. But none of that was true. Certainly, he favored Harry Potter over most mortals but that hardly meant that he cared for her.

“I care for order.” He said finally, truthfully. 

“Can I assume that means you’ll not tell Tommy anything?” She ventured carefully, doe-like eyes wide in an almost convincingly innocent look.

“I do not care about Thomas Shelby.” Death repeated once more, “Much like yourself, his life is meaningless. You will live and die and within a few centuries, no one alive will remember you.”

Turning his attention away from the woman, his eyes darted around the room only to spot a flurry of black rushing towards the stairs leading to the balcony. Halting at the top, she glanced back towards him and in a rare show of genuine emotion, Harry grinned impishly at him before disappearing into the crowd.

Before he could follow her, Thomas Shelby returned to retrieve his date, numerous bags thrown over his shoulder as he nodded to Grace and said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Death did not appreciate the way the human ignored him or tried to. He did not like how far humanity itself had fallen. Harry had insisted he provide the woman with pleasant company, it was disappointing that Thomas was not pleasant.

“Thomas Shelby,” He said, forcing the man to acknowledge him as he rose from his seat. Adjusting the sleeve of his jacket, he looked at the dour-looking man and said, “I was under the impression you preferred brunettes like that Jurossi girl. That one was better.”

He did not allow the man a moment to register his words or fashion a response. After all, he had more pressing matters to deal with and without another glance at the couple, he brushed by them in search of his Mistress of Death.

He found her quickly enough, sitting next to the mirror image of her tormentor. However, instead of the angry scowl that colored her features every time she looked at the real thing, she only looked disappointed in the presence of his father.

He knew why, of course.

Tom Riddle Sr. was at times snobbish and rude, but he was not his son. He was not vile in his very essence. He would not be the one to kill her family. And while Harry Potter had been stripped of much of her mortality, she still had enough to understand the difference. That was why he had made sure that she attended this function in the first place.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” She said to the boy as she noticed Death lurking nearby.

Sniffing, the boy tried to stop her retreat as he said, “You didn’t get to hear the story about the ugly little shack in the woods! You said you were interested in hearing about Little Hangleton.”

As he reached out to grasp her arm, Harry took a large step away from him, her displeasure evident on her features. She may have decided that the boy was not his child, but that hardly meant that she wanted him to touch her.

“Forgive me, I lost track of time.” She said hastily upon noticing the boy’s wounded expression.

“Oh, of course,” The boy nodded his head slowly, remembering his manners as he admitted, “I apologize for taking so much of your time. My parents don’t care to listen to my stories much. I- I may have gotten too excited.”

An array of conflicting emotions flashed through her eyes as his words forced her to acknowledge how young he was. This boy was just that, a child. Not old enough to father a monster. And with a quick shake of her head, she said, “Nothing to apologize for, excuse me.”

She moved quickly, weaving through the people in her path as she reached out to grasp his outstretched hand. 

Death did not like touching humans, he never had. But his Mistress’ youth, along with leaving her malnourished, had left her touch starved. Regardless of their relationship, she only sought comfort in him because he was the only constant in her life.

Death did not like touching humans but he would always provide her this much.

“Take me to Small Heath, please.” She said, glancing back at the boy who now sat alone, tugging at the fabric of his sleeve as the adults around him ignored his presence.

“Of course, My Lady.”

  
  
  



	7. Not that kind of companion

Tommy’s mind was in a frenzied state and memories he had tried to drown out had begun to resurface. It seemed that the fortune teller had a certain skill at reviving his ghosts. She cast them down from heaven to create Tommy’s personal hell, as though to remind him that he broke everything he touched.

Greta’s name had fallen from the man’s mouth with too much familiarity. Like he had actually fucking known her. And she plagued his thoughts so often now that Tommy wondered whether she’d been summoned by the man.

But as far as Tommy was concerned,  _ she _ was to blame. She was to blame for the waking nightmares, the interferences and she was to blame for bringing  _ him _ into Small Heath.

He would admit that in his anger, he hadn’t handled it well. He had made it worse when he’d stormed into her shop, frothing at the mouth as he demanded, “How the fuck does he know about Greta?”

The corner of her lips tugged down as she continued to scribble something in the margins of the book in front of her. Her writing was illegible and he wondered if she’d even be able to decipher it later.

“I’m going to need some clarification,” She said after a moment.

“How did your-” He paused as he tried to find the appropriate word to describe the man. He didn’t even know her relationship with the man, “ _ companion _ know about Greta?”

“Who is Greta?” She demanded, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation.

Before he could formulate a response, her hand shot out towards him. Her fingers gripped his jaw and angled his head down as she stoically inspected his face. Then, she let her hand drop with a sigh as she said, “You’re not under the influence of anything. Have you gone mad? I hear that happens with old age.”

“What are you playing at?” Tommy demanded again, his face darkening as he asked again, “How does he know about Greta?”

He didn’t realize he had begun to advance towards her. He didn’t think she’d have felt threatened by him. He didn’t think he could have hurt her if he wanted to, not that he did. But he was blinded by his emotions as he reached out to grasp her arm.

He was swiftly brought back to reality when he felt something sharp hovering threateningly close to his neck.

The corner of the razor dug into the skin of his neck with enough force to draw a droplet of blood. There was something about the steadiness of her hand and the unbothered expression on her face that made him think that maybe she wasn’t as good as he had assumed. After all, she had his fucking razor at his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said slowly, in an exaggeratedly calm manner.

Tommy glanced away from her face, down at the words carved into her flesh.  _ I must not tell lies _ , it said. He noted that the writing was the same as the pig scratch she had been scribbling earlier. It was a disturbing thought that accompanied this discovery but it did well to distract him momentarily from his anger.

“You did that to yourself?” He asked in disgust.

She was quick to pull down the sleeve of her shirt as she responded in a scathing tone, “Before you make any judgments, look at the mess you’ve made of yourself Mr.Shelby.”

“I’ve made a business,”

“Don’t delude yourself, you’re not a businessman, you’re a gangster who's bitten off more than he can chew.”

Tommy decided that he was tired of her holier than thou attitude and he said, “And you’re better? You think I don’t know about Ada or Finn, or Curly? You get close to them and you put them in danger because you’re lonely.”

He was taken aback by how quickly the rage darkened her features. He hadn’t expected any real reaction from her, after all, she had always been quick to conceal her emotions.

He couldn’t apologize, he wouldn’t. He hadn’t been wrong.

Then, as suddenly as she had become angry, she had once again schooled her expression behind a mask of indifference.

She slipped the razor into his hand and hissed, “Stay out of our business and we will stay out of yours.”

-x-

Death did not care much for the Shelby family. He did not understand why Harry did. 

She may have believed she hid it well enough but he knew her best. He knew her well enough to know that her recent sour mood had something to do with a Shelby and he had a good idea of which Shelby man was to blame.

It came as no surprise when their questionable business became a danger. Or, at least Death thought so as he watched the youngest Shelby boy playing in a car that was moments away from exploding. The bomb set to go off when the boy opened the door.

He watched patiently from across the street as the feeling of death blanketed the air and Harry’s eyes widened in panic. From beside him, the woman cast him a disbelieving glance as she all but lunged towards the vehicle. 

Coaxing the boy with soft words he couldn’t make out, she gripped his hand, and just as the boy triggered the bomb, she vanished with a pop. The two of them reappeared at his side as he watched the explosion damage much of the car’s interior.

“I expected a bigger explosion,” He admitted, and when he turned to face Harry, he found her scowling at the car. He could feel the anger behind her spell as she gave him the explosion he was expecting.

The car burst into flame and Harry watched it with more than a little bit of satisfaction before she turned her attention to Death and she said, “He could have died!”

Her words were accompanied by her drawing the boy closer to her as though to shield him from the fire and perhaps Death himself.

“Did you have to burn the car?” He asked, his eyes not straying from the mess.

Harry for her part remained ever composed as she said, “Magic is so volatile, it does as it pleases.”

He did turn to look at her then, as he drawled, “You used the fire making charm and it caught on fire.”

“Your point?”

“It was already on fire, you simply made it worse. To what merit?”

“I wanted to make it warm and toasty for when Thomas Shelby drove it straight to hell,” Harry hissed through clenched teeth.

And then, the Witch returned her attention to a wide-eyed Finn Shelby. Brushing the hair away from his face, she inspected the boy for any injuries. And when she found none, she said, “My friend will take you home.”

And then, with a glance at Death, she made her way back to the shop. She walked quickly, her hands curled into fists at her side as she attempted to smother her rage. It was a strange sight, something Death had not seen for many years. It had been so long since Harry Potter had acted so impulsively.

It was only when she’d vanished from his line of sight that he turned his attention to the boy shuffling awkwardly at his side. He stood uncomfortably in Death’s presence but seemed ultimately unbothered by his near-death experience and he wondered how the thing could be so indifferent about the prospect of death.

Nevertheless, he followed Harry’s order to return the boy to his home. 

He was not surprised to see that the Shelby home was in a frenzy. It suited their lifestyle.

“I’ve come to return something that belongs to you,” He said, loosening his iron grip on the small boy’s shoulder as he gave him a light nudge in the direction of his family.

He seemed displeased with the treatment as he quickly moved to straighten his shirt and whined, “I’m not an object, I’m a person. I’ll tell Harry!”

“You misunderstand our relationship,” Death said in response as he watched Polly Gray pull the boy behind her as though to protect him. He did not care to inform the woman that it would take more than that to shield a child from Death.

“Who the fuck are you?” John demanded, taking a step forward in a threatening manner. He was flanked closely by his eldest brother who was already reaching for his revolver.

Death did not have the patience for the idiocy of mortals, and certainly not these mortals. His eyes dragged past the two men striding towards him and settled on the angry blue that belonged to Thomas Shelby.

“I am merely the messenger,” Death responded, his distaste clear in his tone. 

He may not have cared for the Shelby family but he had certainly appreciated when Harry had dealt with them herself instead of having him play messenger like a servant.

Then, after a moment of heavy silence, he turned his attention to Thomas Shelby and he said, “Your vehicle is on fire.”

-x-

The sun had just disappeared behind stormy clouds as a man walked into Small Heath. Wearing a black coat and a dark expression on his face, it was clear to anyone who crossed his path that there was something off about him. The rigid way he held himself up made him look larger than he was, and with his nicely styled blond hair and handsome face, he was hard to overlook.

As he walked through Small Heath, his eyes roamed over the storefronts on either side of the street carefully, almost lazily as though he had all the time in the world. The man seemed unaffected by the wary glances thrown his way as he stopped outside of a small shop at the end of the street.

It was a worn old shop and the plants outside the window had withered away, a stark contrast to the large pots of colorful flowers hanging outside the bakery next door. But it wasn’t the plants that had attracted his attention, instead, it was the strength of the magic that seemed to blanket the air around the shop. It was powerful, and there was underlying darkness to it. It was promising. It meant that maybe the rumors had some truth to them.

Smoothing down the collar of his jacket and glancing quickly at his reflection in the side window, he ducked into the shop. Closing the door behind him gently, his pale blue eyes scanned the tight shop, over the curious books stacked dangerously on a narrow shelf in the corner, the tea and biscuits set on a round table next to a deck of cards, and then over the two occupants of the shop, only one of whom had turned to look at him upon his entry.

In the corner, a middle-aged man sat with his legs thrown over the table. His dark hair was neatly combed back and his clothes were obviously of fine make. 

But there was something about the odd man. He felt like nothingness. It was an odd thought in itself but there was just something about the way he seemed unbothered by the world around him. His glassy eyes never strayed from the book in his lap, not even to glance up at the sound of the door closing. 

In contrast to the well-dressed man, the woman leaning over the counter did not seem to care much about her appearance and was dressed in an oversized dark shirt with curious stains on the sleeves. Much like her companion, she had dark hair, however, hers was long and wild.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her accent made it glaringly apparent that she wasn’t originally from Small Heath. Her accent was familiar enough to him.

His response caught in his throat when the woman raised her head. Her eyes were such a unique shade, he thought that she’d captured the color of the killing curse in her eyes.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” He said.

Whether his words had surprised her or not wasn’t immediately clear. Her face was blank, revealing nothing. There was no blushing or pleased smile at the compliment. Then she said, “Small Heath doesn’t usually get visitors, certainly not Wizards.”

He wanted to laugh at the words, it wasn’t hard to understand why nobody visited Small Heath. On the surface, it looked like it had very little to offer. However, the rumors of dead soldiers and ominous black smoke that spat out things from nightmares suggested something else.

“What about dark creatures?” 

“That depends on whether you trust the accounts of drunkards.” She responded evenly with a small shrug of her shoulders.

A pleasant smile pulled at his lips as he nodded his head in understanding. Then, he made his way towards the bookshelf, very aware of the pair of eyes following him closely. 

His fingers trailed over the spines of the books carefully. He was surprised to find several titles that were not known to him. 

Tugging a large hardback book from the end of the shelf, he flipped the cover open. His eyes darted over the content on the first page with thinly veiled curiosity before he glanced over at the woman once more and raising the book, he asked, “I don’t suppose you’re selling these?”

“It’s my personal collection, I’m afraid.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he set the book back carefully before he grinned amicably, “A lovely collection.”

“Kind of you to say,” She said blandly, unaffected by his friendliness. She was a sour thing, he decided but considering the circumstances, he understood why. After all, he couldn’t imagine a time traveler being particularly interested in drawing attention to themselves.

But being a time traveler did not explain the way dark creatures were flocking to a muggle town. 

Shifting back towards the woman, he continued, “I imagine you enjoy reading, given your collection and all. I wonder perhaps if you’ve read  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ ? Not the most complicated of stories, I’ll admit but they’ve always been a favorite of mine.”

It seemed that the woman had finally realized that he had no intention of leaving any time soon and with a small sigh, she straightened her back. 

At her full height, she was still a good head shorter than him, but something about the look in her eyes suggested that she thought herself above him in one way or another. It irritated him but he was careful to not let his distaste show.

She ran her hands through her hair, drawing his attention to it once more and he struggled to keep the sneer from his lips as he wondered how hard it would be for her to run a brush through the mess. Pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, she said, “I didn’t enjoy that one. Take  _ The Tale of Three Brothers _ , every time I’ve read that story, I’ve found myself wondering who would be foolish enough to try and challenge Death itself?”

“For immortality, I imagine many would,” He responded immediately.

“To search for Death in an effort to live forever seems counterintuitive,” She said sharply, and then she leaned over the counter. 

“Do you fear death?” She asked with an amused glint to her eyes. It was the first time she’d shown any emotion other than cold indifference. It softened her face enough that for the first time he found himself wondering how young the woman was.

“I don’t fear death, but I certainly wouldn’t turn away if presented with the possibility of eternal life. I- I never did introduce myself, how rude of me,” Offering the woman his hand, he said, “I’m Gellert Grindelwald.”

He wondered if she would feel the burn of his magic when she took his hand, he wondered if hers would retaliate at the subtle display of power. From the strength of the magic that saturated the shop, he imagined it would be something lovely and intoxicating. And she was young still, impressionable and he was patient.

But when her hand met his own, he felt no rush of power, nothing rose from within her to acknowledge his magic. She was entirely closed off, whatever power the girl possessed was held close to her chest and hidden. It reminded him of Ariana, dangerous.

“Pleasure,” She said simply, offering no name in return. Rude thing.

He was prepared to ask her for her name but before he could speak, it seemed that her companion had become tired of being ignored. Clearing his throat, he asked in a raspy voice, “You say you do not fear Death?”

There was something about his voice that caused a chill to run down his spine, something about the way his glassy eyes seemed focused on his every move.

“No,”

“Not even after what you did Ariana Dumbledore?”

The remnants of his smile slid from his face. Nobody knew about Ariana, nobody but Albus, Aberforth, and himself. Nobody, not in the Ministry, not in Godric’s Hollow, and certainly not a man he’d never seen before.

His fingers twitched at his side as he considered whether or not to reach for his wand. He considered the risk, and ultimately decided against it. He wasn’t here to make enemies but he no longer thought that he could walk out of here having made a friend.

And while he did not let the panic appear on his face, something about the man’s gaze made it clear that he knew the effect his words had.

All too quickly, the man said, “I have no intention of divulging your secrets. That is, so long as you have no intention of divulging ours, Seer.”

Before Gellert could respond, the woman behind the counter spoke, her words colored with shock as she said, “Seer? I didn’t know that!”

“That is because it is impossible for  _ you _ to know everything,” Her companion replied. 

He was correct too because it was not information that Gellert Grindelwald divulged so easily. 

The woman’s expression darkened at her companion’s statement but before she could retaliate, Gellert hastily said, “I am not here to cause trouble. I see no reason to share any secrets. I’m simply hoping to understand what has attracted the attention of dark creatures. I would imagine we could all do well without drawing any attention to ourselves.”

“This is not a short visit then, I assume?” The woman asked after sharing a quick look with her companion. 

“I promise to be on my best behavior,” He said as he took a few steps towards the door before pausing, “Although I must insist on continuing our discussion on _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ at a later date. I think I can convince you to give it another chance.”

The woman seemed to consider his words for a good moment before she nodded her head and hummed, “My name’s Harry.”

“No family name?” he asked.

Before Harry could formulate a response, her companion decided to respond for her, “Peverell.” 

-x-

“I’ll need to warn Zilpha Lee,” Harry grumbled under her breath.

From his place by the table, Death drawled, “I find this fondness you have for that family quite strange.”

Throwing her coat over her shoulders, she glanced back at Death, who had yet to stand up and said, “It isn’t fondness, It’s a professional courtesy.”

The ever-present stoic expression still masking his thoughts could not mask the derision from seeping into his tone as he scoffed, “Professionalism is hardly a word I could associate with you.”

It was a fair argument. Harry Potter had never been the poster child for professional behavior. And even if she had, her relationship with Zilpha Lee was anything other than professional. In fact, she wasn’t certain if there was even a relationship there at all. They had met once briefly, and it had been a mild enough of an experience. 

It would have been simple enough for Harry to just turn the other way and decide that a warning wasn’t necessary. It would have been easy if she had been anyone else.

Grindelwald’s appearance in Small Heath was due to her recklessness. She hadn’t been as careful as she should have been. After all, wasn’t that why Death had come?

Grindelwald was dangerous, she knew that much. She knew that he didn’t care much about any casualties on his path to success. 

It wasn’t fondness but perhaps still equally as selfish. She didn’t want more blood on her hands. 

She didn’t like to think of the past but she certainly thought of it a lot. It was because somewhere under all the heartbreak and death were her good memories.

She hadn’t done too well in finding them quite yet, a fact that reminded her of how different things had been back then. What had been some of her happiest memories had become a reminder of everything she’d lost.

She hadn’t been able to muster enough happiness for a corporeal Patronus for so long a time that she had given up trying.

She didn’t care to add any more weight on top of that.

“I feel responsible for the arrival of a young dark lord,” Harry explained as she tried to force a blue wool scarf into the large pocket of her coat. “I will feel very much responsible should they die at the hands of said dark lord. A dark lord whom I-... wait, can I kill him? Can I kill this Dark Lord?”

“Gellert Grindelwald will die at the hand of Tom Riddle in March of 1998,” He responded, putting an emphasis on Tom and Riddle. 

Frowning, Harry hummed, “I feel like I should be allowed to kill one Dark Lord.”

It was a joke, at least for the most part.

She should have guessed Death’s response. He knew her well.

“Dark lords or Muggles, their blood looks the same. Could you truly do it? Could you stomach any more of it?”

Her humor evaporated with his question and she scowled at the question, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Pushing the door open with a bit too much force as she exited, she hissed over her shoulder, “If I have to.”

-x-

“Harry,” Zilpha Lee greeted, a sly smile on her face as she gauged the surprise and distrust that flashed over Tommy’s face at the woman’s sudden arrival. 

Harry for her part did not glance at the man staring at her as she strode over, instead she fixed her gaze on the Lee Matriarch, and with a nod of her head she said, “I came to warn you about a possible threat.”

“A threat to you or a threat to me?” She asked the Witch, her eyes narrowing as she considered the woman’s words. She held no affection for the strange woman, but she knew better than to allow her own values from blinding her from her responsibility to her family.

“For me, it’s a nuisance, for you it could mean death,” Harry responded slowly.

The way she glanced at Tommy from the corner of her eye made it clear to Zilpha that she did not feel comfortable divulging any information in front of him. It was a strange thing and she wondered what exactly their relationship was.

“Would you like to continue this conversation in private?” Zilpha offered, her lips twitching at the indignation that flashed on Tommy’s face at the offer as she continued, “After all, Tommy was only here to discuss wedding plans. The boy was just leaving.” 

-x-

Finn Shelby didn’t know what to expect when a stranger he’d never seen before had blocked his path on the way home. While he looked friendly enough, there was something about him that made Finn feel strange. He’d said something about coming back from Harry’s shop and something about having a few questions but he certainly didn’t seem like anybody Harry would be friends with. He seemed far too happy for that.

“How do you know Harry?” Finn asked hesitantly, rocking on his feet as he contemplated whether or not to trust the man.

“I’m like her,” He responded easily, his lips turned upwards as he smiled invitingly.

“Prove it,”

The man didn’t hesitate to push his coat to the side and tug out a long smooth stick from inside his coat pocket. Brandishing the stick in his hand, he glanced at Finn from the corner of his eye before waving the stick in a grandiose manner.

From the end of the stick, a bright light erupted forming a ball of yellow flame. The ball hovered at the end of the stick and Finn found himself thinking that he had never seen Harry use any instrument to control her magic.

As though noticing the unimpressed look on his face, the man let out a small laugh. With a curl of his wrist, the flame was extinguished and he asked, “Too bland for you?”

“No,” Finn said quickly, not wanting to anger the stranger. Squaring his shoulders, he asked, “Reckon you can teach me?”

It was a trick question, one he already knew the answer to. Once he had asked Harry if her magic was something he would be able to replicate and she’d told him that it didn’t work like that. She’d made an offhand remark about different types of magic and the Lees but she had said it under her breath making him think that maybe that comment wasn’t meant for his ears.

Regardless, he knew the answer. He just wanted to know if the man could be trusted or not.

The man only tilted his head to the side as he thought. He stayed like that for a moment or two before he said, “That’s quite a big favor you ask of me. What would you give me in return?”

The desire to grin at catching the man in a lie was overpowered only by the realization that he was alone. He had lied to Aunt Polly when leaving the house because he had been planning on visiting Harry. Only, Harry was out of town. Nobody knew where he was.

If this man didn’t kill him, Finn supposed any of the adults in his life would be more than willing to do the job if they ever found out. Especially after the incident with Tommy’s car.

He was saved from having to formulate a response as a deep voice called from over his shoulder, “Quite late for children to be about, would you not agree?”

Finn noticed the way the man’s eyes hardened slightly as they settled on something behind Finn’s shoulder. And then Finn turned to find himself gazing at a familiar face, at least sort of.

It was the man he’d seen spending all his time at Harry’s shop earlier. The man who’d walked him home.

He was standing close enough to Finn that the boy noticed the older man’s peculiar-looking eyes. They were milky and at first Finn thought that he was blind. That was until his eyes met his own and then he knew that the man could see.

“I’ll make sure he gets to his door just fine,” Gellert declared from beside him, in a tone that was much colder than the one he’d previously been using.

“You’ll forgive me if I do not feel comfortable with you ensuring the safety of a child.”

Gellert seemed to consider his statement, a frown on his face. And then, he reached out and gripped Finn’s shoulder. Leaning down, he gave Finn another big and friendly smile and said, “Let’s continue this conversation later, yes?”

-x-

Death glanced over at the boy sitting at the table, playing with Harry’s deck of cards. He wasn’t certain why the boy had followed him back to Harry’s shop instead of venturing home. He did not know how to get the boy to leave, and he had not been in the company of anybody other than Harry for too long a time.

“I’m Finn, Finn Shelby.” The boy said, “How do you know Harry?”

“She is my Mistress,” Death responded slowly. This mortal was dear to Harry, and while Death knew that she could not spend any more time with him for his own safety, he was also aware that Harry would be displeased if Death was anything but cordial to the child.

“Like you’re her butler?” 

“You mistake my profession.”

“What’s your job then?” Finn asked while trying to shuffle the deck of cards on the table. He failed twice and on the third attempt, he accidentally folded the corner of one of the cards. With a sneaky sideways glance at Death to see if he had noticed, Finn pushed the deck of cards away from himself.

While he had noticed the boy’s actions, he didn’t give any indication as he responded evenly, “I am a companion.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the word and Death had a suspicion that the boy associated the word companion with something different than he did. And with a barely noticeable sigh, he added, “Not that kind of companion.”

  
  
  
  



	8. Troubling Times

When Harry had finished her conversation with Zilpha Lee, she was surprised to find Thomas Shelby waiting outside for her. A strange thing considering they hadn’t spoken in quite a while, and they had both made an effort to avoid one another.

He was leaning impatiently against his car, huffing his cigarette with a look of discontent on his face. He seemed to be deep in thought, and his eyebrows were drawn together in worry. For once, Harry could say with absolute certainty that she was not the cause of his troubles.

With a small sigh, Harry shoved her hands into the pocket of her coat and made her way towards him, assuming that he would hardly let her go on alone after he’d waited for her. 

“You’re friends with the Lees,” He observed when she reached him. His tone wasn’t as accusatory as she’d expected, more so uncomfortable than anything else.

Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she said, “They think I’m friends with you.”

He regarded her silently for a moment before he let his cigarette fall onto the grass. Putting it out under his shoe, he shook his head before motioning towards the car behind him.

“Get in,” He said, moving towards the driver’s seat. 

“What?”

Gesturing around them, he demanded, “What are you gonna do, Harry? You gonna walk? You gonna walk back?”

In the back of her head, Harry registered that this was the first time he’d ever said her name. This also meant that this was his first time learning her name and that Finn and Ada hadn’t told him. The thought filled her with more than a little regret as she remembered that she’d put them in danger.

“I don’t need your help,” She responded sharply, deciding that perhaps it would be best if Thomas Shelby received the same treatment she would be affording his siblings. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, just get in the car.”

In response to the exasperation on his face, Harry’s hand curled into a fist in her pocket. It seemed that Mr.Shelby had the ability to entice the worst reactions from her. 

Her magic sparked against her fingers and all too suddenly the engine of the car burst into flame. It was like some small bomb had just gone off, not unlike the time with Finn.

Any satisfaction she felt was quick to die away when she saw the expression on the man’s face. Eyes shot wide open, it seemed that the explosion had triggered him. He looked like he’d just flashed back into a war zone, a panicked and desperate gaze trying to understand what had happened.

It took him a whole minute to compose himself, and from the amount of force he used to clench his jaw, Harry assumed it hadn’t been an easy feat. Regret flooded through her.

Lunging forward, she worked quickly to fix the damage she had caused and repair the car. And then, fidgeting uncomfortably, she slid into the passenger seat.

Without turning her head towards the man, she mumbled under her breathe, “Sometimes my emotions get the better of me,”

Tommy glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he slowly got into the driver’s seat and began to drive, his eyes darting from his car to the woman. And after a suffocating moment, he said, “Yeah, me too.”

It wasn’t an apology. They weren’t apologizing. Not for setting someone’s car on fire or cornering someone in a fit of rage. It was just a passing comment.

After another few moments, Tommy said, “Harry’s a bloke’s name.”

“It’s short for Harriet,”

“That’s an old woman’s name.”

Turning sharply in her seat to glare at the man, Harry said, “You are a gang leader named Tommy. You have a child’s name.”

“You do know that only old women complain as much as you, right?”

Most of the ride afterward happened in complete silence, with Thomas occasionally drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of some song that Harry didn’t know. Not that she cared, she was too busy leaning her head against the window, enjoying the feeling of the wind hitting her face and blowing her hair into a mess.

It wasn’t the intense wind she felt from her time riding broomsticks, but the vehicle was hardly as fast as the brooms she’d used. It was nice all the same.

By the time they’d reached Small Heath, Harry’s face had become flushed from the onslaught of wind, but she was certainly in a better mood as she made her way towards the shop.

“Harry,” Thomas called from behind her and she turned her head to glance back at him.

The man leaned against the window and asked, “Did you need the ride?”

“No,” Harry responded evenly, before she shrugged her shoulders, “I did appreciate it though.”

-x-

Death had warned her that it would be best to cut ties with the mortals, especially with the young Grindelwald lurking around. He had pointed out that while they had made sure that Harry would be the focus of his attention, that only meant that he would be close enough for them to monitor. It didn’t do anything to minimize the danger he was to the muggle community, specifically the ones that Harry had grown fond of.

She hadn’t listened, of course. Instead, she had returned from her meeting with Zilpha Lee with flushed cheeks and humming a song that Death did not recognize - not that he recognized much music as it were. 

“Gellert Grindelwald attempted to speak to the Shelby boy while you were gone,” Death said in an effort to gain all her attention. And it worked well, her head immediately snapped in his direction.

Rushing towards him, she demanded, “Is Finn safe?”

“I returned the boy to his home.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief and she said, “Thank you.”

“You should distance yourself from them,” He added, his expression impassive as he watched her carefully for how she would respond.

A flurry of emotions flickered over her face before a mask of indifference slid onto his face. Shaking her head slowly, she said, “He already knows Finn comes by here. If I distance myself and he gets hurt, I-”

“I have kept an eye on the boy in your absence. I can continue to do the same,” Death offered, 

“You watched him play around in a car with a bomb in it,” Harry protested, throwing her hands in the air, “I don’t want an audience for his death. I want someone to stop it.”

“Finn Shelby does not die at the hands of Grindelwald,” Death responded immediately, not understanding the cause of her worry. If Finn Shelby was not meant to die a certain way, he would not die a certain way. He would hardly stand by while a young aspiring Dark Lord attempted to interfere with his business.

-x-

Gellert was certain the boy thought himself clever. Of course, he would. He was young and naive. He didn’t know he was being taken advantage of.

He’d approached the boy first on the route he always took and made quite the impression. He was a stranger, with magic. A dangerous character if there ever was one. The kind of people his family must have warned him about. Well... Polly at least. 

His aunt, although she served as a maternal figure in the boy’s life. A religious woman, a god-fearing criminal. And she had quite a reputation among the drunkards. She was a fiery thing, and smart enough to know that there was something different about the fortune teller.

And so, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that the boy hadn’t divulged information about their encounter because otherwise he would have had to explain why he was outside Harry’s shop.

Instead of confiding in the adults in his life, he had set out to handle it himself. 

His solution had been to change his route. He took a longer path, one that crossed the Garrison. He also made it a point to venture inside the bar every time under the guise that he was trying to convince the barmaid to let him have a drink even though his brothers had made it clear that he wasn’t allowed any alcohol. It was smart, the barmaid had begun to expect the boy at a certain time each day.

Alright, perhaps the boy was clever. Cunning behind those wide eyes and cherubic face, but what did you expect from the children surrounded by an unbecoming crowd. 

However, his friendliness with the barmaid worked in his favor. Especially considering she had been the first person he had introduced himself to after his arrival. It was the fortune teller who had given him the idea. She had told him that the increase of activity from dark creatures had been rumors, the mumbling of drunkards. A bar seemed as good a place as any to start an investigation.

He’d ambushed the Muggle woman as she’d been closing up for the night. She could do little against the Imperius Curse and she’d had plenty of information she’d acquired from the people she served that she was more than happy to divulge. 

Everything was working smoothly.

-x-

Upon Zilpha Lee’s insistence, Harry had found herself agreeing to accompany the Shelbys to the wedding. Of course, according to Zilpha, Harry was only there in case trouble arose. The trouble that she had brought upon them, the Lee Matriarch had reminded her.

And that was how Harry found herself sitting back and watching people dance and drink and enjoy themselves.

Her line of sight was blocked by a glass of amber liquid. Glancing to the side, she found Thomas hovering beside her, another glass in his other hand.

“You know it’s a wedding and not a funeral?” He asked,

Accepting the glass from his hand, Harry set it down on the grass beside her as she responded, “The last time I attended a wedding, it ended with an ambush.”

“Expecting the same from this one?” Thomas asked, his tone serious as he waited for her response. 

“I just feel like something bad is going to happen,” She said, patting the grass next to her in invitation as she continued, “Do you know, when Zilpha said you had come to discuss wedding plans, I had assumed they had been for your own wedding.”

“Do I look like the kind to settle down?” Thomas asked as he watched John and Esme grin excitedly at each other before he sat down on the grass beside her.

“How would I know? I barely know you.”

They settled in comfortable silence, watching the flurry of activity around them. This was something familiar to Harry, seeing life go on around her while she sat there. In her mind, it was an undesirable position. She didn’t understand why Thomas felt the need to keep her company.

And then, as all good things did around her, they were brought to a startling halt.

She felt it before she saw it; the warmth of the fire could not shield her from the cold. It was a prickly kind of pain that stabbed at her skin as the fires were fizzled away.

It took the Muggles longer to feel it, but when they did, they were filled with an uneasiness, a strange sort of dread. Beside her, Thomas stiffened upon noticing her own discomfort. 

“Harry,” He said, his hand curling around her shoulder to gain her attention. She didn’t notice; she was too busy trying to decide what the best course of action was. She couldn’t get them all away in time.

“Harry,” Thomas called again, this time his hands cupping her face and raising her head so that she was looking at him as he demanded, “What’s going on?”

“Dementors,” Harry responded, just as the cloaked creatures descended on the wedding.

And then everybody was screaming and panicking as an unseen force turned the world around them cold. The Muggles couldn’t see them, but they could certainly see their friends and family struggle against invisible assailants that suspended them in the air, drawing their souls out.

From over Thomas’ shoulder, through the crowds of people running and shooting at something they couldn’t see, her eyes met the panicked and imploring gaze of Zilpha Lee.

Gripping the hands still cupping her face, Harry turned her attention to Thomas and said, “I-I can’t cast a Patronus anything. It doesn’t work- I- I can’t!”

-x-

Death had been following the Shelby boy in Harry’s absence. He’d promised her that he would not be a silent observer should he be presented with the prospect of death. 

Only, he hadn’t quite expected the boy to attract as much trouble as he did.

Much like he typically did when Harry was out of town, Finn had decided to go to the Garrison. He didn’t necessarily prefer going to the Garrison, but he also didn’t care to seek Death out. He had become quite close to the barmaid in a short amount of time. She had become a replacement of sorts, now that Harry was avoiding the boy.

And so, like so many other days, Death had found himself in the Garrison, sitting in a corner of the bar as he watched the boy talk animatedly about something with the barmaid.

Much like every previous day, Grindelwald did not follow the boy inside. He did, however, wait across the street. Death didn’t know what the man was planning but he certainly hoped he would act soon because he was growing tired of playing babysitter.

It was only when the boy was preparing to depart that Death rose from his seat, throwing down a few coins for his untouched drink and following. He did not care about the suspicious look the barmaid threw his way as he departed.

Death trailed behind them, watching as Grindelwald stayed a fair distance behind the boy, with an easiness that suggested that it was something he’d done frequently. 

Death wasn’t expecting the spell that hurled towards him as he turned a sharp corner, he hadn’t expected Gellert Grindelwald to be so bold.

The vibrant green spell hit him in the center of the chest and he crumpled to the floor just as somebody turned the corner behind him.

Death could see the shock in the woman’s wide eyes as she watched his body collapse. But Death didn’t have the time to tie up loose ends while Grindelwald was tailing the Shelby boy. It took a moment for Death to settle back into the body and reanimate it.

As he pulled himself up, Death glanced at the terrified woman. The barmaid only watched with horror in her eyes as Death settled back into the body of a man that had just died. Her mouth hanging open as she gripped her gun tightly. 

As Death attempted to familiarize himself with this form once more, the stiffness began to dissipate and Grace, who had just witnessed the dead rise remained cemented in place. 

When he rose, she raised her gun with shaking hands as she said, “D-don’t take another step!”

It was only when the gun turned to ash in her hands that she slowly raised her head and in a cracked voice, demanded, “What the hell is going on? What are you?!”

Death glanced in the direction that Grindelwald had vanished to, and silently cursing Harry Potter, he turned back to the mortal. Reaching out, he grabbed the woman’s collar, hoisting her into the air effortlessly.

“Listen to me,” He ordered in a tone that sent chills down the woman’s spine, “You will assist me in saving the Shelby boy.”

“I -Shelby boy? D’you mean Finn? Is he okay?” Grace cried, momentarily forgetting the fact that she’d just witnessed a corpse come back to life.

Death didn’t respond to the woman’s irritating questions. Instead, he set her down on her feet before giving her a firm push in the direction that Grindelwald had disappeared off to.

-x-

Tommy could only watch in horror as the woman’s eyes began to turn milky and pale, the peculiar green dripping away. Dense, black smoke curled around her, moving like something sentient and furious. It coiled itself tightly around the woman like a serpent. 

Any fear that had once been present was stripped from her tear-stained face and instead, she looked like a bloody herald of the apocalypse. Her features were distorted in a scowl.

And when the invisible creature lunged towards her once more, a pale hand shot out through the smoke and grasped the creature’s cloaked throat. The longer her hold on the creature remained, it slowly began to materialize. It was a cloaked creature with long and bony hands and it looked like something from a nightmare.

In the audience, there was no more screaming or frenzied panic. It seemed that everyone was fixed in place. Their eyes were glued to the spectacle in front of them, on the woman the people of Small Heath had once called a devil. A monstrous thing and a very bad omen, if Polly was to be believed. She certainly looked the part.

In unnaturally slow and rigid movements, she brought her head closer to the creature’s face as it struggled and howled in her grasp. Skeletal talons clawed desperately at the hand that burned against its skin. The razor-sharp claws shredded the pale skin of her hand, but no blood rushed to the surface.

Harry’s face remained impassive, she gave no indication that she was in pain. Her lips parted slightly and she arched her neck to inhale deeply. It was an exaggerated action, lazy and mocking.

The creature gave quite a terrible response. It howled loud enough to make Tommy wince and cover his ears to dull the sharp sound. Through squinted eyes, he watched as the cloaked thing seemed to wither in her grasp. It folded in on itself, struggling pointlessly as pale fingers ground it into dust.

All too suddenly, her feet slammed against the ground. Under her boots, the grass withered and crumbled. When the grass beneath her was dead, it spread towards everything around it.

Erasmus Lee, who stood closest to her was the first to fall. As the blackness inched towards him, he stiffened in an unnatural position like all his skin had been stretched over his bones too tight. He struggled to take broken and raspy breaths as his eyes darted around fearfully. Like a sinner who’d found out God was real. Real regretful.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” One of the Lee men slurred reaching for his gun. The alcohol in his system had made him brave, or stupid. His friends followed his example, reaching for their weapons, and a feeling of dread settled over Tommy.

He was shocked when John pushed himself through the crowd, firmly planting his feet in between Harry and the Lees. His hands were raised as he tried to dissuade them, “Let’s not be this stupid,”

Tommy could tell that even though the Lees kept advancing, John wasn’t about to step aside. And he didn’t understand why John felt the need to defend Harry, he was pretty sure she could defend herself. He was trying to reason with the wrong person.

Following his brother’s lead, Tommy inserted himself beside John, only he faced Harry. Taking care to avoid the dying grass that inched closer and closer to his feet, he said, “C’mon Harry, it’s done. It’s over. Come back.”

His hand was curled around John’s forearm, ready to drag him aside if things got too bad. Not that John seemed particularly concerned about his own mortality. Instead, his brother turned his attention towards Zilpha Lee.

“I don’t know what she can do,” John said, pointing towards Harry, “And I don’t think any of us want to find out.”

Tommy did, but he decided not to voice the sentiment as he too glanced between a pensive Zilpha Lee and a still milky-eyed Harry. He didn’t understand when John had become the voice of reason.

“She’s not the enemy,” Ada insisted, as she pried herself free from Polly’s iron grip to join her brothers. She looked at Harry with a healthy amount of fear, but Tommy realized that she wasn’t afraid of Harry. She was afraid for her.

All too suddenly, Ada looked like a right mess, pale and sweating. Her face twisted in worry, she gripped Tommy’s shoulder digging her nails in with immense force as her knees buckled.

“Tommy,” She whispered, her previous anger momentarily forgotten as she said, “The baby’s coming.”

-x-

It was as though a hand had gripped at something invisible inside him, the old and ancient thing that existed within the bodies he wore. Like a fiery brand, it burned at him as it drew power from it. He hadn’t experienced this parasitic vice for a long time. She hadn’t drawn power from him in a long time.

Gritting his teeth, Death snapped his head up to meet the fearful and wary gaze of Grace Burgess who was slowly backing away from him. 

“Do not lose the boy, Grace Burgess,” He ordered, the threat clear in his tone, “And show more intelligence than the rest of your species.”

Her grip on the gun so tight that her knuckles were white, the woman glanced from Death’s vanishing form and the door to the building that Grindelwald and Finn had disappeared behind. She shook her head frantically like she was trying to dispel a distressing thought before she hissed, “What is going on? Why are you- are you real? Am I dead?”

The woman’s panicked words were drowned out by the searing pain and he could not anchor himself any longer. The Hallows were an extension of himself, they called to him always. They were a part of him but they were loyal to her. 

Just before he allowed himself to be summoned away, he said, “You will not lose the boy.”

  
  
  



	9. Odd Complications

Finn realized he was being followed quite early on. 

Lately, he was more and more on edge. He felt like he was being watched. Always being watched. Because of this, he made sure to spend his time in the presence of others. There was Ms.Burgess the barmaid, and she was friendly enough. Of course, it was after leaving the Garrison that Finn had started to feel like he was being followed, so maybe Grace wasn’t terribly comforting.

Picking up his pace, Finn ducked into the closest alley, hoping to lose his stalker.

He let out a sigh of relief when he heard the familiar voice of Grace calling for him from around the corner and he was prepared to run to the woman. Only, her calls were silenced abruptly by a flash of bright light and when Finn peaked around the corner, he saw the woman slumped on the ground with a familiar man standing over her.

“Oh Miss Burgess,” Finn whispered to himself in disappointment, “You really are useless.”

Shuffling back to his hiding spot, he realized that adults could be more trouble than help. And Finn could hardly leave her there with the witch man. He’d have to save her, and that wasn’t his job.

Over the sound of his own heart beating furiously in his chest, he tried to remember the advice Harry had given him.

_ Run.  _

Curling down to make himself as small as possible, Finn slowly leaned to the side. His head peaked out from the corner as his eyes darted around. The only exit was blocked by the man who was leaning casually beside Ms.Burgess’s fallen body, and Finn didn’t think he’d make it by him.

_ If you can’t run, hide. Take the time to think. Don’t be reckless. _

If he wasn’t in such a dangerous situation, Finn might have laughed. Because that was the exact opposite of his brothers’ approach. Act first, think later. Although Polly used to say that they didn’t think at all. 

_ Let them catch you. _

That was the stupidest advice she’d ever given, Finn had told her so. He couldn’t imagine giving up. The witch man didn’t look like he’d have any problem with killing him right there. But it was also the only thing he knew Harry and Tommy to agree on.

_ If you have no way out, let them get you. Then make ‘em regret it. _

Furiously wiping away the tears that had started to collect in his eyes, he took a shaky breath. His fingers slipped into his pocket, grabbing around until he felt the cool metal slice at his fingers. Then, he stepped out.

“There you are, Finn.” Gellert greeted with a wide smile, “I only want to talk.”

In slow, calculated steps, Finn approached the man. Motioning his head towards Grace’s slumped body in the corner, he asked, “The same way you talked to her?”

Gellert glanced down at the woman’s body before he shook his head quickly, “She’s still alive, only asleep. Magic is a secret you see, not everyone can know.”

Finn couldn’t stop his face from scrunching up at the comment as he gestured frantically towards her while he said, “She wouldn’t have known if you didn’t use it on her.”

Gellert’s grin was quick to slip off his face as he said, “You never know with Muggles. They stick their noses where they shouldn’t.”

Before Finn could respond, Gellert shook his head lightly before he cooed, “How’s Harry?”

“Good. She’s probably waiting up for me right now. I was supposed to meet her today,” Finn lied. His grip on the razor was so tight that he could feel the blood pooling in his hand. He couldn’t loosen his hold on it though. With how much his hands were trembling, he was afraid to drop it.

“How about I walk you over then?” Gellert offered amiably, but the twinkling in his eyes made it real clear that he knew Finn was lying. 

“That’s your wand, yeah?” Finn asked, leaning his body towards the thing with a wide-eyed expression. He could see the way the man’s grip on the wand tightened as Finn inched closer. 

_ Get the wand _ , Harry’s steady voice whispered in his ear.

As quick as he could, Finn swiped his arm through the air. He only hoped the razor would make contact with something. He was relieved when Gellert let out a howl of pain. 

Finn took the opportunity to swipe the wand from his hand and when we looked up, he could see Gellert’s hand coated in blood covering his left eye. But the older man didn’t seem particularly angry, just pensive. 

Then, all too quickly, he let out a laugh, but not the happy sort. It was cold and accompanied by his hand curling around a fistful of Finn’s hair. Tightly. 

Through teary eyes, Finn scowled up at the man. 

“Hand it over, boy.” Gellert hissed.

Not that Finn was paying him much mind. Instead, his attention was fixed on the wand burning in his hand. Were they usually this warm? 

_ Break it. _

After his initial shock, he did just that. He gripped the wand on either end and snapped it in half.

Neither of them was prepared for the explosion that accompanied it. As the two of them were thrown in opposite directions, Finn let out a cry of pain. He was sure the man had taken a good chunk of Finn’s hair with him.

Of course, only Finn landed on the ground painfully. The stupid witch man had vanished.

It was only then that Finn noticed the state of his hand. He had expected blood or at the very least some awful cuts across his palm. But there was nothing. Only his skin, and when he flexed his hand he felt no pain.

Unfortunately, the rest of his body was not so lucky and it ached.

And with a pained groan, Finn pushed himself away from the ground. He looked towards where Grace’s body ought to have been only to find that there was something else entirely. With a glance around, he froze. This couldn’t have been Small Heath. 

He wasn’t in Small Heath. He didn’t know where he was.

-x-

Tommy didn’t see who made the shot, it was some fucker behind Harry. All he knew was that one second the witch was returning to the conscious world and the next a bullet pierced through her chest, splattering him with her blood. After that his vision was blinded by tendrils of black smoke that shot out from the woman’s chest, covering everything in sight.

Even with his scarf raised to shield his mouth, Tommy could feel the black substance forcing its way into his lungs. It lit a fire inside his chest and he couldn’t stop the tears that attempted to rid the foreign substance from his eyes.

Maybe foreign was not the correct word. He didn’t know what the shit was but it filled him with a familiar sense of dread. It was like he was back in a warzone, with smoke and blood saturating the air. It felt like Death was hovering over his shoulder.

From behind him, he could hear his family members calling out his name in worried tones but he couldn’t see them. He didn’t have much of an option, he decided as he pushed himself closer to the source. His arm was outstretched, reaching for something solid through the dense smoke.

Then his hand brushed again some rough fabric and he was quick to grasp on for dear life when the ground fell out from beneath his feet. 

It felt like the world around him was moving too quickly and he could feel the bile rush up his throat in protest at this sudden shift. He needed his feet on the damn ground, on something that wasn’t smoke.

It didn’t feel much better though because his feet slammed against the ground with such force that he prayed they weren’t broken. The sharp pain that shot upwards didn’t reassure him.

Dropping to his knees, Tommy coughed and wheezed in an effort to rid his lungs of the substance. He coughed until the only thing exiting his body was his own blood.

“I’m too old for this shit,” He grumbled as he fell back and tried to catch his breath.

Beside him, Harry lay motionless, blood pooling underneath her. He couldn’t tell how bad her injuries were, not with all the black the woman wore. It didn’t matter though, he couldn’t do shit out in the middle of...nowhere?

He didn’t know where they were, and the only thing he could see through the trees was a solitary house. No, it wasn’t a house, it was a fucking mansion. And there were lights on!

Picking up his unconscious companion, Tommy began to walk towards the place.

-x-

It was the loud pounding at the front door that piqued his curiosity. It was too loud to be any of his neighbors, they were far too proper for that. And his parents had only left for their business trip two nights ago and were not due to return for another week or so at the earliest.

And so, despite the late hour, Tom slipped out from his bed and slowly opened his bedroom door. For once the old wood door didn't creek loudly in protest. And it was with a victorious smile that Tom slipped his head out the door to glance down the hall. When he saw no maid, he inched towards the staircase.

He was surprised to find the head maid Madeline staring at the barrel of a gun. And the man holding it looked like he was dead himself, all dirtied and covered in blood. In his other arm, he seemed to be holding up his companion. 

It was only when the man took a step into the light that Tom could make out his companion’s face. It was pale and bloodied but familiar.

For a minute he considered his next course of action and then he stepped out towards the top of the stairs and called down, “Do you need help?”

Tom was surprised to see the man’s grip on his weapon waiver when his gaze settled on him. He doubted it was because he looked intimidating. After all, he was a boy wearing silk pajamas with what he assumed was the worst case of bedhead known to man.

“Go back to bed, Mr.Riddle!” Madeline demanded, rushing to block the bottom of the staircase with her body.

“She’s bleeding,” Tom pointed out, “I imagine Father won’t want to return home to a dead woman in his foyer.”

“Tom!”

“Let them in,” Tom insisted, before turning his gaze towards the man as he added, “Quickly, before the neighbors see them at our door. Imagine the gossip.”

Madeline seemed to consider the statement, brushing her pale hair away from her face before she rounded towards the man with her no-nonsense expression. Holding out her palm, she said, “Turn over your gun.”

A heavy silence settled between them as the man handed the maid his gun before they were quickly ushered inside. Tom noticed that Madeline took a moment to glance outside to see if anyone had witnessed the interaction before shutting the door behind her.

Madeline took her position by the stairs, holding the gun between her pointer finger and her thumb as though it would grow legs and run away at any moment.

“Come,” Tom said, and it was only when the man carried his companion up the stairs that Tom realized he didn’t know where to take them. He couldn’t take them to his parent’s room and the guest rooms were not set up. It was with great reluctance that he allowed the man into his room and gestured towards his bed, “You can put her there.”

With that, the boy rushed out of the room to retrieve supplies that the woman might need. He threw them hastily in a bin with a few fresh towels before returning to his room.

“You know you shouldn’t let strange men into your home,” The man said.

“I don’t make it a habit to take advice from criminals,” Tom scowled up at the man.

He certainly looked like the wrong sort, with his messy clothing and blood on his hands. Tom was positive that if the maid decided to tell his parents that he’d let a man like this into their home, his father would be fuming.

“But you let them into your home?” The man asked, his lips tilted up in slight amusement as he leaned his head back against the wall in exhaustion.

“No!” Tom sneered, and he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as he said, “In fact, you’re welcome to leave. I would imagine that disgusting stench of blood and sweat would be gone with you.”

With a scowl painted on his face, he inched towards the woman. Judging from the fact that her coat was now laying at the end of the bed, Tom assumed that the man had inspected her wound already. Setting the basket down beside her, he knelt on the ground. 

“Don’t bother, she’s not injured.” The man said.

“You said she was shot,”

“And she’s not injured.”

“Whose blood are you drenched in then?” 

The man only shrugged, raising his hand to rub half-heartedly at the blood caked on his shirt. Tom could barely hold back the gag of disgust as he pleaded, “At least wash yourself. There’s a bath through the first door on the left.”

“I have bigger things to worry about at the moment.” The man responded, his eyes trailing towards his companion with a look of concern. 

“I don’t imagine she’ll be up and about any time soon.”

Tom assumed that the man was as fed up with him as he was with the man. He couldn’t understand why. After all, Tom wasn’t the one that looked and smelled like a corpse.

“Listen, kid,” The man started, his tone more than a little condescending as he continued, “I think you should leave us be.”

“No! You listen to me, you intolerable oaf.” Tom hissed, pushing the man back towards the door with all his might. The man took a few steps backward if only to placate him as Tom continued, “You threatened my maid with a gun! When my father finds out that I let you into this house, he will kill me. And I will not die for your ungrateful arse. You look like you crawled out of a grave and you reek like the dead. If you don’t go clean yourself up immediately, I’ll push you out the bloody window to be rid of you!”

The man seemed to consider his statement for a moment or two, and then his shoulders slumped slightly. Running his hand over his face, he asked, “First door to the left, you said?”

“Feel free to use all the soap.”

As the man disappeared towards the bathroom, Tom glanced once towards the sleeping woman before he stepped outside the room. Closing the door behind him, he shuffled down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Rubbing his eyes and letting out a yawn, he wondered where he could sleep.

As he had expected, Madeline was pacing down the length of the kitchen muttering under her breath. Her face had turned an unbecoming shade of red in anger.

“I don’t suppose there are any old clothes around? Preferably something belonging to Father but I imagine anything of Mother’s will work too.” Tom asked, a mischievous smirk flashing over his features.

At his question, Madeline only raised her head and her cold eyes narrowed, “What next? Shall we feed him, as well? A criminal, boy. You welcomed a criminal into your home.”

“What do criminals eat anyways? The hearts of their victims?” 

“Perhaps the sharp tongues of foolish little boys.” Madeline responded sharply before she said, “I shall have to see about the clothing.”

“See if you can find any sharp tongues laying around as well. I still have use for mine.”

-x-

Her body felt heavy, her mouth was uncomfortably dry and Harry didn’t know where she was. 

She was in a drawing-room that was both unfamiliar and familiar. The environment was new to her, and she had never been here before, but there were objects that she knew. 

A worn Gryffindor scarf was thrown over a large chair that sat next to a crackling fireplace. A familiar broom was tucked haphazardly in a corner and it was balancing dangerously on top of a stack of books. The carpet beneath her feet was identical to the one that the Dursleys had kept in their living room, down to the stain on one corner from when Harry had tripped and spilled Aunt Petunia’s wine.

She reached out to grasp the scarf, only for the fabric to disintegrate when her fingers made contact. She quickly pulled her hand away and watched the fabric stitch itself back together, returning to its previous state.

“What is this?” She whispered under her breath.

“Your memories, I imagine. Objects from your past that were once prized possessions.” A familiar voice responded, deep and unsettling.

Angling her head to glance back at the body Death possessed, a sneer tugged down at her lips. A familiar face looked back at her, as old and weathered as she remembered from his last moments. Albus Dumbledore was not a welcome figure from her past. Not anymore.

“Is this what dying is like?” She asked, reaching out to brush a hand over the chair, only for it to fade away. Everything familiar to her, she couldn’t touch. It felt more like hell than death.

“You believe this is akin to dying?” Death asked, a familiar upwards tilt of his lips betraying his amusement. The expression looked out of place on Dumbledore’s face. “This is familiar to me.”

“To you? Aren’t these supposed to be my memories?”

“You do not consider yourself a part of me?” He asked, before shaking his head slightly, “I suppose that mortals never do. But are you not? All of you return to me after you die. Into the afterlife, into nothingness. Whatever you want to call it.”

To prove his point, he reached out and dragged his fingers over the material of the scarf. Nothing faded. Nothing happened. Nothing other than the fabric bending under his touch and it made Harry feel an odd sort of jealousy.

“What happened?” She asked, slapping his hand away from the scarf, “I remember the dementors and then… nothing.”

All emotion drained from his face, and slowly his features began to morph. It wasn’t a smooth transition, it was unsettling to watch as the skin rippled unnaturally to reveal the face of Ron Weasley. He was as lanky as she remembered, with hair so bright it seemed to light up the room. And when he spoke, he sounded so much like her friend that Harry’s heart seemed to clench.

“What happened? Let’s see. You drew from me and lost yourself. Ada Thorne’s son should be born any moment now. Finn Shelby was confronted by Gellert Grindelwald and his whereabouts are unknown. Thomas Shelby watches over your body in Little Hangleton. And finally, we are lost somewhere in between.”

It took a moment for her to process what he had said so emotionlessly and her mind struggled to decide what to focus on before she declared, “Finn! We have to check on Finn. Where is he right now?”

“I don’t know,” Death responded, “I cannot see anything in here.”

“What do you mean here?” Harry demanded, glancing around for any indication of where they were or where they could leave from. But she found nothing. “In between, you said we were lost in between. In between what?”

“Maybe time, maybe space. Maybe life, maybe death. Shouldn’t you know, you brought us here. This is safe to you, this is familiar. Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know!” Harry hissed between clenched teeth. Reaching down, she patted the pockets of her coat in an effort to find her wand. She knew she’d left it here. She always kept it on hand.

“Magic doesn’t work here.”

“Then what does?”

Death only shrugged his shoulders before falling back into the large chair. Throwing his legs over the arm, he tilted his head to the side and hummed, “You seem agitated. I don’t see why. I thought you were sick of living forever. Perhaps this is what comes next.”

Scoffing at his statement, Harry said, “Forgive me if eternity with you isn’t what I desire.”

“Is an eternity watching your loved ones die preferable?” Death asked, his body shifting once more. 

The one was the worst, she decided. Sirius Black looked back at her with a blank expression on his face.

“Stop it! Stop doing that!”

“I’m not doing this. You are.”

“I don’t want this!” Harry snarled, her hands curling into fists at her side. She didn’t hesitate to throw a punch at her companion. 

It didn’t make contact, instead, she fell through him.

Nothing around her was real.

“Harry Potter, bested by a Dark Lord. All he had to do was frighten you to reduce you into this. How laughable. Mistress of Death. Mistress of Nothing. Can’t even cast a Patronus anymore, what good are you? Itty, bitty, baby Potter.”

“Shut up.”

“You couldn’t save them. You couldn’t save anyone. Did they look betrayed when immortal Harry Potter reaped their souls? Did they beg when you took them from their families? They died and you get to live on. I wonder how Finn will look at you? Ada? Thomas? He saw it. You ruin everything, foolish girl.”

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Harry begged, her hands clutching at her ears. She didn’t know if she was trying to block him out or if she was trying to claw her bloody ears off. Nothing was working. Nothing ever worked.

The words echoed in her mind.

They drowned out everything.

And then… they stopped.

“What did he see?” She asked, slowly raising her head.

The mocking stopped for a moment, but the manic smile on Sirius… or Death’s face remained in place as he asked, “What?”

“Grindelwald. What did he see?” She asked again, her voice stronger than before, “You said he was a seer. You said he saw it. What did he see?”

Everything happened at once. The floor beneath her feet vanished and the world around her became lost in dark smoke. When she landed, the ground beneath her was solid and the bright light from the sun blinded her momentarily. 

When her vision cleared, she saw herself.

Only, she was different. Older and darker. There was something wrong. She looked empty. Behind her, her shadow was large and the sunlight seemed to shy away from it. And all too suddenly, the dark version of her snapped her head to the side sharply and stared back at her.

And then she realized what was different.

She was Death.

-x-

“You look lost,” A soft voice called out from behind him.

Finn couldn’t stop himself from flinching in shock. He hadn’t heard anyone approach and he was already uneasy as we walked around the strange street.

Glancing behind him, Finn found a middle-aged man standing a respectable distance away. His hands were at his side and Finn wondered if he had done that to set him at ease.

He looked nice enough but Finn knew that looks could be deceiving. After all, the witch man had looked nice as well, but he hadn’t been nice at all. This man looked the same. Well dressed, with styled hair and a nice smile on his face. Finn swore that the man’s eyes seemed to twinkle.

“I’m not lost,” Finn lied, “I’m uh...looking for something.”

“Ah,” The man nodded his head as he glanced around at the row of houses on either end of the street before he added, “Have you found what you were looking for?”

“You know,” Finn began, deciding not to answer the man as he continued, “My aunt told me not to talk to strangers. And not to be rude, but you look pretty strange.”

“Do I?” The man asked, a smile beginning to form on his face as he added, “How so?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Finn took a large step away from the man before he answered, “Well, for one, your socks don’t match.”

At his statement, the man glanced down at his shoes. Stretching one leg out, he glanced down at the bright mismatched socks before he nodded his head, “Well, my boy, that’s fair.”

And with that, he turned right around and began walking away. Finn couldn’t stop himself from gaping at the strange man. He was really just going to walk away and leave a lost kid stranded. What an odd man.

“Hey, Mister!” He called out. He had to scream because the man was a good deal away by the time Finn had schooled his expression.

The man turned around, a pleasant look on his face as he said, “Yes?”

Finn shuffled in place, not sure about how to proceed. He didn’t want to trust a stranger. He knew they were trouble. But he also didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what else to do. And to make matters worse, he was sure that he had dropped the razor that Tommy had given him when he tried to cut the witch man.

“You got a name?” He decided that was a safe question.

“Well yes, of course. My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Finn could feel his jaw drop. That wasn’t a name, that was a curse. “You’re kidding?”

“Not at all.” Albus Perci-whatever responded.

“Your parents must hate you.”

  
  
  



End file.
